The Evil Overlord List
by boomvroomshroom
Summary: Villains always make the same dumb mistakes. Luckily, Tom Riddle happens to have a rather dangerously genre-savvy friend in his head to make sure that he does this "conquering the world" business the RIGHT way. It's about time the bad guys won for once.
1. Teamwork

Notes:

\- Tom is Tom Riddle. "This is speaking," and _this is him thinking and conversing with Jerry._

\- Jerry is the genre-savvy alter ego. He cannot communicate with the outside word. He can only _**communicate with Tom, like this. **_Jerry is an OC, I guess. He is also the ultimate cheat code to evil overlords everywhere.

* * *

*PILOT PASSAGE*

**_Really? REALLY?_**

_What?_

**_Do you realize how absolutely terrible of an idea branding all your followers on the arms is? And that - what type of design is that? Snakes and skulls? So tacky. You guys look more like a biker gang with matching tattoos than an actual conspiracy._**

_Well, how else am I supposed to distinguish between my side and theirs?_

**_Oh, I don't know...how about designing a magical seal or whatever that only those who possess it can see? Or, better yet, just put it in a place not generally displayed to the public!_**

_...Wow! That actually makes sense! _

**_Yes. That DOES make a lot of sense. And on that note, maybe you should throw away the whole "dark army" idea, too._**

_Why?_

**_Gee. Someone trying to take over the world by starting a war. What a Slytherin thing to do._**

_How else would you take over the world?_

**_Puppet the governments of the countries that matter, and buy out the governments of the ones that don't. But you better hurry. World War I just ended and there's a slew of war-torn, weak, newly created little states that haven't had a history of self-rule for hundreds of years._**

_That sounds really smart! That way, I won't have to deal with a bunch of stupid minions groveling at my feet, either - the already set bureaucracy will take care of that for me, and I'll only have to deal with my puppets directly. Also, if anything goes wrong, they'll revolt against the puppets, and not me! I can't believe I didn't think of that before. But how would I get around to doing all that?_

**_You could start a Confundus Chain._**

_A what? _

**_You know...Confund someone to confund someone to confund someone else to confund someone who really matters. _**

_That's amazing. And then I can also make them Obliviate themselves afterwards so they can't trace it back to me. We're a genius. Thanks, alter ego. _

**_And by the way, Horcruxes aren't a good idea._**

_Why not?_

**_I don't know about you, but insanity is never useful to someone who's about to conquer the world. It's not easy to make smart decisions or try to predict your enemies' movements when you can't even take care of yourself._**

_That's absolutely brilliant! I should totally try to find a different, less costly way to engineer my own immortality, such as uploading my mind to a computer or something._

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you...

* * *

THE JOYS OF HAVING A GENRE-SAVVY VOICE IN YOUR HEAD

OR:

HOW TO BE A VILLAIN WHO IS ACTUALLY SMART FOR ONCE

* * *

_Prologue_

Getting hit by a truck is _not _a fun experience.

Being reborn with all your memories inside a baby's body is even less fun.

Getting called "Tommy Riddle" by a woman looking like she was from the 1920s, on the other hand…

Heh heh.

There were two things I could do at this point.

One was be the moral compass that Tom Riddle never got and make the world all sunshine and sparkles and rainbows.

Or two…

_Hell yeah. Let's eff up this place._

* * *

_Tom Riddle, age 11_

_"#29. I will dress in bright and cheery colors, and so throw my enemies into confusion."_

Tom didn't know how long Jerry had been inside his head, or if Jerry was even Jerry's real name.

**_Depends on what you consider a "real name." It wasn't the name my parents chose for me when I was born, but it's the name I chose for myself now that there's no pesky government papers to limit what I can put as an alias._**

_What, Jerry?_

**_"Tom and Jerry" has a rather nice ring to it, doesn't it?_**

_If you say so._

All he knew was that there never had been a single moment Jerry _hadn't _been there for him. Of course, no one really knew Jerry was there, because by the time his language skills had developed enough for Tom to actually tell other people about Jerry's existence, his intelligence had also shot to the point where he realized that such actions would probably get him shipped off to the madhouse.

According to Jerry, he was actually from 2015, nearly a hundred years into the future, and got killed when a truck hit him. He seemed to have this idea that Tom had the capability to conquer the world, as long as he didn't do anything stupid. Which was fine with him. Tom decided that the idea of becoming an evil overlord was rather fun, and with his natural intellect and Jerry's help, it was very possible.

Not that he knew how much of his intelligence was actually _his _and how much was Jerry's. He remembered from infancy these random undecipherable noises in his head that eventually, along with his development, formed into actually understandable language. Jerry was an adult; had always been an adult. A rather educated one, too, given the complexity of his thoughts. Tom didn't quite know what to think of Jerry. Maybe he really _was _crazy, and this was a split personality. Although, a highly convenient one. There were certain benefits that came with having the personality of a grown man inside your head, and having an unusually expanded vocabulary and an understanding of integral calculus before you could walk was one of them.

There were a few drawbacks. For one, Tom was rather unwilling to socialize with other children his age, simply because he was so far ahead of them that Jerry was just such better company. And the more time he spent in Jerry's company, the more mentally distanced he became from his peers. In fact, he was so used to conversing inside his head with Jerry that in the first few years of his life he forgot to speak out loud in order to demand things from the matrons. He eventually got better as he became used to Jerry's presence, and the constant reminders of **_Speak out loud; they're not in your head like I am_**.

There was also the slight chance that this was one of those crazy science fiction novels where the person's mind was eventually taken over by the split personality. So far, however, Jerry was little more than a voice of reason and a helpful companion. Tom didn't really think that Jerry would be stupid enough to try to pull off anything like that. Jerry, if anything, was a rational being, and seeing as he felt the same things as Tom, like hunger or pain, using Tom's body to commit his own crimes was really not a good idea. Also, if Jerry ended up getting Tom killed, his own future would probably be rather iffy, too – not that Jerry hadn't survived death already.

_Speaking of death…do you think this is what happens to all dead people?_

**_If so, then there should be more people with voices in their heads, _**Jerry reasoned, **_but since you're the only kid I know with the consciousness of a mature adult, I don't think so. Who knows. Maybe you'll be able to figure it out in the future._**

_I don't intend to die, though._

**_Just make sure that whatever you sacrifice for immortality doesn't drive you insane or make you rely on regular rituals involving the blood of virgins._**

_What's a virgin? Are you talking about that lady that they always make us read about? Because I don't think you can get blood from someone who's been dead and decomposed for nearly two thousand years…_

**_Never mind. You'll find out when you're older._**

_…How much older?_

**_When you no longer think "girls are icky."_**

_I've never been puerile enough to think that. All children are equally disgusting. Except me, of course. _Tom glared at the children jumping about on the playground from his bedroom window, completely oblivious to his internal conversation.

**_Now, be nice._**

_You mean "don't let them know exactly how much you hate them."_

**_Fine. PRETEND to be nice. Except to the obvious bullies. If you absolutely have to take out your anger on someone then use some scapegoat whom you can easily justify fighting back against. That way you won't draw any suspicions of psychotic tendencies until after you've gained too much power for anyone to fight back._**

_Yeah, yeah, no strangling bunnies, even if their owners are just about the most annoying people in the world. I understand._

**_And no torturing people without mind-wiping them afterwards._**

_Speaking of mind-wiping, any help on that? Because I can make things float, glow, break, burn, grow, shrink, and change color, and I can summon things to me, and I can talk to snakes, but I can't make people forget things for some reason. Well, I can, but they forget the wrong things, and act weird for days, and that really isn't...good._

**_Sorry. Haven't got a clue. This "magic" business is all your doing._**

_Hmph._

Yes, Jerry was a very interesting entity, and a very helpful one. Except when it came to assisting Tom in controlling his own odd powers. Jerry had nothing to do with that, except suggesting ways on how to maximize use of his rather limited repertoire. So far, he had gained the simpering loyalty of most of the orphanage children, as well as the rest of his schoolmates, in that he always seemed to have snacks stashed away. No one really questioned it, since "that really nice Tom kid" was known to never eat sweets himself but be completely willing to share them with others. They all assumed that every time he got something he just sort of put it away, and then took it out if someone asked.

In reality, Tom (and Jerry) were just using magic to duplicate the same pieces of candy that had been passed out that one Christmas from years ago. That it hadn't gone bad yet showed just how much artificial sugar was in that thing. Tom knew he wasn't going to touch it anytime soon.

Tom mulled over this bit of information. His thoughts, however, were interrupted by a knock on his door. It was probably Mrs. Cole. Even though he hated her, he tried to kiss up to her the most, because she was a predictable constant in his life, and the trouble of having to get used to dealing with a new matron was more than the satisfaction he would receive from offing her. The same with the teachers at school, and pretty much any adult he ran into. Anyway, keeping his room clean and giving an air of false politeness was not that much trouble compared to the benefits he reaped from being so far above reproach that he'd never be considered a suspect in anything, even if he was the only one who could have possibly done it.

Because "sweet little Tom" would _never _do anything wrong.

Ever.

"Tom?" Mrs. Cole said, her words slurring slightly. Lovely. She was drunk again. Thank goodness she wasn't the type of person who became violent and abusive when drunk (she usually just locked herself in her office when she decided to bring out the gin), but she tended to behave exceptionally stupidly, like all drunk people, if she ever did decide to reveal herself to the public. "Tom. I. Er. You've got a visitor. This is Mister Dumberton – sorry, Dunderbore. He's come to tell you – well, I'll let him do it."

**_Just play nice and don't make direct eye contact._**

Tom had had plenty of experience in playing nice. But…_Why not direct eye contact? Isn't that generally considered rude in Western culture?_

**_Yeah, well, this guy reads minds, and I'm not sure what he'd do if he realized you had some alter ego trying to help you conquer the world. Anyway, pretend you're shy with strangers. That's how all the "nice" kids behave._**

_What are you talking about? Is he from an asylum? _He eyed the man, whose long hair and beard would have given him a rather Merlin-esque look had they been white and not reddish-brown in color. The rest, though, like the long, plum-colored robes (who even _wore _that anymore?) and weird hat, was more than enough to convince Tom that this was not really a normal situation.

**_They usually send the orderlies, not the patients, _**Jerry snarked. **_You haven't done anything to make Mrs. Cole suspicious of you, have you?_**

_I've been good, I swear! _Tom replied as innocently as possible.

Jerry snickered.

"How do you do, Tom?" said the man, holding out a hand.

_Are you SURE he's not from the asylum? _Tom asked.

It wasn't in Tom's nature to be vulnerable or unsure of himself, but he was a good actor, if anything. He hated being polite, sure, but that didn't mean he didn't know how. His manners, when called for, could outstrip those of all the other orphan scum stuck in this place.

"Um, I guess I'm okay," Tom said, looking down and fiddling with the hem of his shirt. Then he looked up, pretending to realize that the odd man was holding out a hand, and hastily whispered, "Sorry," before shaking it.

**_He's a wizard, just like you, Tom._**

_What…_

**_He can make things float and explode, too._**

_You're kidding me. He's a wizard? A _wizard_?_

**_For someone who can use his mind to defy the laws of physics you seem rather close-minded to the fact that there might be other people out there who can do the same thing…_**

_Oh, shut up._

**_Tsk, tsk. And I thought you were the sweetest little boy ever - _**

_Spare me that bullshit, will you?_

**_Where'd you learn that language?_**

_From YOU._

**_Oh._**

"No need," the man said. "I am Professor Dumbledore."

"Professor?" Tom asked. "Of what?"

"I am a Professor of Transfiguration at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," he said, drawing a stamped envelope from his robe pocket. "I have come to offer you a place at this school – if you would like to come, that is."

Tom took the letter and read it over. _Hogwarts? Witchcraft and Wizardry? Who does he think he is? _Tom ranted. _It's the asylum; I knew it!_

**_Calm down,_** Jerry drawled. **_Just play dumb. It's not the goddamned asylum, okay? Whatever you do, don't lose your temper in front of him._**

_It's a bit hard not to; he's an absolute moron._

**_A moron who can read minds and happens to be the most powerful wizard on the continent of Europe, so please, for the love of Pete, if there's one person in the world you shouldn't reveal your true nature to, it's this guy._**

_How do you even know all this stuff?_

**_Like I told you, I'm from 2015. _**

_Are you sure this won't create some weird paradox?_

**_…Meh. _**

_Seriously, though. How do you know you're right?_

**_Have I ever been wrong?_**

"…Witchcraft…and Wizardry?" Tom asked, feigning incredulity. "Isn't witchcraft a bad thing, though? I'm not sure about this."

"Witchcraft is just a term for magic users. It is the choices you make that define good or evil," Professor Dumbledore said kindly. "But never mind that. You and I are different, Tom. Have odd things ever happened to you when you were feeling strong emotions? Things that couldn't be explained normally?"

Tom continued fiddling with his shirt, shooting a look at Professor Dumbledore out of the corner of his eye, making sure to avoid the other man's face. "I…are you saying that's supposed to be magic?"

"That is correct."

"Um…sir, can you show me?"

**_Okay, pray he doesn't set your wardrobe on fire…_**

_Why?_

**_Because that would mean he saw through us. Tom, you haven't stolen anything lately, have you?_**

_How could I, with you breathing down my neck, literally, twenty four hours a day, seven days a week?_

**_Hey, step number one to being an Evil Overlord is not letting anyone know that you're an Evil Overlord._**

But Professor Dumbledore did little more than draw a long, pointed stick (**_That would be a magic wand, Tom_**) (_I'm inexperienced, not a moron, you moron_) and levitate a few books around in the air. Tom tried his best to look amazed, which was harder than it sounded, because after practicing levitating things for so long the novelty effect had worn off. Not so much, however, when Mr. Merlin changed the flying books into cuckoo clocks and back again.

"These are some of the things you'll learn at Hogwarts, along others, which I promise you are much more practical than floating books around and making cuckoo clocks. But never mind that," and Professor Dumbledore's eyes twinkled – "What can _you_ do?"

**_You are the epitome of angelic innocence. Repeat: You are the epitome of angelic innocence._**

"Umm…well…sometimes, I only have a few pieces of candy, and a lot of people see me, and I don't want to just give a few people things because that might make the others feel left out," Tom tried, "except when I look down again, there were a lot more than there were before. And at first I thought I was just counting wrong, but then it happened again and again, like in those fairy tales with the pot of gold that never runs out."

"Go on," Professor Dumbledore encouraged.

"And another time we were supposed to clean our rooms for the government inspectors, and even though my room is normally clean I had some things lying around that day. And then all of a sudden they went back to their spots." Tom settled back and gave a proud little smile, all the while completely dying on the inside from the disgusting bitter aftertaste of the thickly laid on artificial sugar. "I figured out how to do that one again, too. So now everything I have is always clean. I'd help my friends clean up, too, but I was afraid of hurting their feelings, because I _know _they'd ask me how, and I wouldn't be able to tell them, and then they'd get mad because they thought I was hiding something and wasn't sharing…"

Professor Dumbledore held up a hand, and Tom paused, before ducking his head sheepishly again. "Sorry…I just get a little excited sometimes…"

**_And the title of Drama Queen of the Year goes to…_**

_Shut your face, or I swear to god I'll…_

**_I thought you were atheist._**

"That's quite all right," Professor Dumbledore chuckled. "Magic _is _a very exciting thing. Trust me, there have been students with much more…shall I say, _exuberant _reactions than yours, and they grew up with magic around them their entire lives."

"You mean there's more?" Tom said, interjecting with as much hope as he could. Professor Dumbledore nodded, and Tom's face lit up, before falling yet again. "I…they must know a lot of magic already, don't they? I'll be _so _behind. Are there any special rules? Because I've never heard of this stuff until today…I bet I'll be the worst in the class…"

**_*sniff* There goes little Tommy, off to conquer the world with his impenetrable charm..._**

_You are the most infuriating person I've ever talked to._

**_Aren't we the same person?_**

_Hypocrite. Just a few moments before we were separate entities and you were someone real from the future who died._

**_Funny. You never really believed me before._**

They could argue for _years _over this. In fact, Tom still knew nothing about Jerry, except that he was pretty much a permanent residence in his head. Tom was sure that, had Jerry shown up, say, now, instead of having been present from his very birth, he would have been much less trusting. As it was, though, despite Jerry's rather murky background story (for all he knew, Jerry really _was _an alter ego with a very overexaggerated sense of imagination, or, better yet, an extension of his own consciousness that allowed his genius to spill over into somewhere safe), Tom trusted Jerry. After all, Jerry hadn't failed him…_yet_.

"Not to worry," Professor Dumbledore said again. "It's a common rule that everyone receives a wand and starts school at the same time. Perhaps students with magical parents might know the names of certain spells, but they will have no way to practice it. You won't be the only one coming from Muggle – that's our term for non-magical people – backgrounds, and anyway, statistics show that students of non-magical heritage perform just about as well as their peers with magical families."

"So this…heritage…_doesn't _determine how good you are?" Tom asked. "Or are you just saying that to make me feel better?"

"It is actually true. There are teachers at Hogwarts who are Muggle-born themselves."

"And when I finish school…what happens?"

"Generally you would have become integrated into Wizarding society by then, and found a job in our world by then. When I take you to Diagon Alley – the Wizard London – you will receive a more practical view of everything, and I can explain as we go by. "

"So, a sort of secret world, then? And no one knows about it, except for the people with magic?"

"Yes."

"What if I end up not liking it? Can I go back to the, er, Muggle world then?" Tom asked.

**_Fat chance, _**Jerry snorted. **_You're loving the idea of this magic thing already._**

_I'm just playing it safe! You said "be nice." This is how a shy, nervous kid who's never heard of magic before is supposed to act!_

**_I know. And damn, are you good._**

_Thank you._

**_You're welcome. Seriously._**

"It is possible, but very rare," said Professor Dumbledore. "There are, of course, restrictions that we would have to place in order to preserve our secret. For example, you cannot use your magic against others, obviously, but especially Muggles because they have no magic of their own _and _result in a breach of the International Statute of Secrecy. Of course, there are exceptions, such as if you are defending yourself, or saving a life, but it still leads to a lot of legal issues."

"How do they catch those people?" Tom asked. "I mean, if I meet a stronger wizard, say, and I don't know that much magic yet…"

"The Ministry of Magic, our government, keeps tabs on the magic being performed."

"Like, spying?" Tom asked, not having to fake his rather disturbed look..

"Not quite. You have to understand, magic is just energy. When magic is performed, it can be detected, just like, say, a radio signal, I believe? In any event, there are ways of recording and evaluating these situations. There are law records, if you want to spend time looking that up."

**_One thing he's not telling you: they can only tell that magic has been cast, and not who did it. Pretty stupid, I know. _**

_Wait – so if another wizard did magic inside this orphanage…_

**_They'd think it was you, because this is "your" zone. _**

_What? That's stupid!_

**_Well, that means if you go to someone else's house and did magic…they also can't catch you. Or, if you just move out of your own zone into someone else's zone, I guess. _**

"Oh, okay! Thank you, sir!" Tom gushed.

_Ugh. I think I'm going to be sick._

**_No kidding._**

"Well, if that's all," Dumbledore said kindly, "tomorrow I will be returning to take you to Diagon Alley to get your school supplies."

"You're coming with me?" Tom blurted out.

**_Accept his help! You're just an average kid with no evil aspirations in you whatsoever!_** Jerry snapped.

"Sorry," Tom added hastily. "It's just – it's just – well, I've done things alone most of the time before, so, you know. The adults here don't have a lot of time because there's so many of us, so I wasn't really expecting you to come back. But if you can come with me, that would be great."

Jerry was laughing his head off.

"That is understandable," said Professor Dumbledore.

"One last question," Tom said. "Is this really real? Or am I just dreaming?"

"That would be a very deep philosophical question that people have been trying to answer for millenia," Dumbledore said. "But, for our purposes right now – yes, this is real." With that, he tipped his eccentricly patterned hat, and disappeared out the door.

Tom watched him leave, and then let out a breath that he hadn't known he had been holding.

_Well. That was...interesting._

**_Oh, you haven't even seen the start of it yet._**


	2. Hope

A/N: By the way, I am currently looking for a cover for my story. I'd like something original, but I don't know how to draw…So if someone is willing to make something for me I will greatly appreciate it.

If multiple people respond, I can unfortunately only pick one – but I'll still link back to the rest on my profile.

So, if you're interested, just pop a review or whatever. Merci danke por flavor! (That means Gracias in Polish. I think.)

* * *

_"#__74\. I will not let anyone know my plans for being an Evil Overlord, nor will I let anyone know that I have plans in the first place."_

Professor Dumbledore had indeed returned the following day to take Tom to Diagon Alley to assist him in shopping for school supplies. Apparently, Wizarding London was located behind a tiny, rather inconspicuous public house named the Leaky Cauldron, which _would _have been a brilliant idea if it hadn't been for the name. Then again, most people didn't believe in magic anyway, so maybe he'd let that one whim slide.

"Welcome," Professor Dumbledore said grandly, "to Diagon Alley."

"Whoa," Tom breathed, partly out of awe, but mostly out of exaggerated interest. Admittedly, the fact that a place like this could remain completely hidden was quite impressive; however, _what _exactly was hidden remained to be assessed.

_You know, apart from the whole "moving brick wall" and "mysterious shopping center inside pocket of universe" thing, this isn't _that _amazing. I mean, it's just like any other shopping center. Except smaller, and more medieval, and…magic._

_**Wow. Ungrateful.**_

_You mean realistic. _

_**You are such a little cynic.**_

_I was born with the voice of a grown man inside my head. Of course I would be a cynic._

Tom, naturally, had been extremely put off by the fact that there was a very eccentric old man following him around all the time (it was just _shopping_; it wasn't as if they were going to ship him off to war or something, and he _certainly _didn't need anyone to hold his hand, even in this new place!), but at the very least Jerry had been correct in that Professor Dumbledore commanded a great deal of respect. Nearly everyone seemed to know him – though Tom eventually realized that _of course they'd know him; Hogwarts is the only damn school in Magical Britain and he teaches one of the "core" subjects!_

_**Well, of course. **_

_Let me guess – it's the same in all the other magical countries?_

_**As far as I'm aware of. Maybe the more highly populated ones have multiple academies, but there's still going to be very few.**_

_This conquering the world business might be more complicated than originally estimated, if we live in a society where nearly everyone knows each other. Unless I become a teacher, too. Then I can influence entire generations of people without ever losing anyone's trust. The teachers here seem to have a very unrealistic information monopoly.  
_

_**Well, of course. Moriarty was a professor, too. His only mistake was leaving a paper trail for Sherlock Holmes to meddle in.**_

_To be honest, these wizards don't seem too bright, _Tom thought, frowning at a few old-fashioned quills in Flourish and Blotts. _It's nineteen thirty-seven and they're still acting like they're in the Middle Ages. Slightly cleaner, but still. The Middle Ages. If I was a wizard, I'd mass produce stuff like we mass produced those Christmas candies, and then overload the Muggle market with them and screw everyone over. And I'll never go out of business no matter how low the price drops because magic doesn't cost me anything to use._

_**Now that's what I call economics on steroids.**_

_Steroids?_

_**Never mind. Futuristic reference.**_

_Sometimes I wonder if you're making all this stuff up._

"Professor Dumbledore?" Tom asked. "I know we have a limited amount of money, but I was wondering if I could get a few more books. You know, on wizards' laws and customs, so I don't accidentally do something wrong or offend people. I'm fine with using cheaper Muggle things instead of those quills; honestly."

"I'm afraid quills are just another Wizard tradition," Professor Dumbledore said, smiling. "But not to worry. A few extra books does not hurt my wallet much. Consider this a gift."

"Oh, no, I couldn't, Professor," Tom said meekly.

"There is no harm in helping another person, Tom," said Professor Dumbledore.

"It's not that…it's just…I don't have anything to give you in return…"

"Gratitude is more than enough."

"Then…er…thank you so very much, Professor." Tom offered him an awkward grin.

"Oh, you are quite welcome, Tom."

"I really do want to give you something in return. It's only polite," Tom pushed. "I haven't got much money, but…"

"Oh, there's really no need for that, Tom."

_**Offer to get him thick woolly socks for Christmas.**_

_What?_

_**Just trust me.**_

"…I'll get you some thick woolly socks for Christmas or something," Tom mumbled.

Professor Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "That is very kind of you, Tom. I've always wanted thick, woolly socks. People always insist on giving me books simply because I have a career in academia. It's very frustrating."

"I'm sure it is," Tom replied, smiling awkwardly again.

Internally, however, his state of mind was a completely different story.

_How did you know that? _he demanded.

_**I told you; I'm from the future, **_Jerry yawned. _**I know these things.**_

_What about MY future?_

_**I can't tell you that. It would cause a paradox.**_

_Oh for the love of…You don't seem too concerned about telling me about other peoples' futures!_

_**Whatever. Just pay attention.**_

They continued walking through the shops, buying textbooks, robes, and the like. Some of them were quite fascinating, and others basically a weird wizard version of the same Muggle things. Tom wondered which one had come first. Probably the wizards had adapted from the Muggle way of doing things via a bunch of rather inventive and opportunistic Muggle-borns, because Tom couldn't think of doing it backwards. Besides, it wasn't as if there were Muggles here to copy the wizards in reverse.

Along the way, Professor Dumbledore continued to point out important landmarks, such as what the Leaky Cauldron looked like from the back of Diagon Alley, certain stores, and Gringotts, the wizarding bank, which also happened to be run by goblins.

_And everyone keeps their money here? _Tom asked.

_**Yep.**_

_But surely they've got to have multiple branches, right?_

_**Nope.**_

_But what if the bank fails, and everyone loses all their money?..._

_**One: the Wizarding World still operates on the gold standard. Two: there are no standard protection laws, meaning if you fail to repay a loan to the goblins, they will find a way to get every cent of it back from you somehow, including slave labor – you don't get to declare any bankruptcy. Even if you die and have no heirs, the goblins will repossess everything you ever held dear and outprice the hell out of it. Three: the economic situation is much simpler than that of the Muggle world. No stock market, or loans, or buying on margin, or any of that overspeculation business that led to the Great Depression.**_

_I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. It sounds really boring to me. What are my options in this place, anyway? It sounds very limited._

_**Well, you could become a teacher. Or a shopkeeper. Or a government worker. Or you could pull some strings to marry into a rich family somehow and never have to work again. **_

_**...And that's about it. Yeah.**_

_And a Dark Lord?_

_**You can't exactly broadcast something like that to the world.**_

…_Teacher it is, then._

_**I thought so.**_

…_Wizards are stupid._

_**Which we can take advantage of. Ask him what the Muggle-Wizard exchange rate is.**_

"Professor Dumbledore?" Tom asked. "Is it possible to convert Muggle money to this Wizard money? Or do all the Muggle-born kids like me, even ones with family of their own, have to use the charity system?..."

"There is an exchange rate, yes. I am not quite sure what it is, though. I know it has something to do with the current price of gold in the Muggle world, whatever it is in each of the different currencies in every country. Galleons are a secret alloy made by the goblins, so it cannot be melted down, and constantly adjust in quality to keep the market stable. The Goblin Nation has ways of keeping these tabs."

_**Damn. And here I thought we could create an infinite loop of gold-to-paper money exchange. I wonder if the goblins know what German Marks are really worth right now…?**_

_Isn't it getting a little better, though? Because of Hitler and whatnot?_

_**Yeah, well, the numbers still fluctuate. It should take a little while for the goblins to adjust, at least. And if it doesn't, we can always make a fortune introducing pencils. **_

_Pencils._

_**Yes. Magical quills that allow you to correct mistakes and don't smudge.**_

_And then we take over the world with this money._

_**Obviously. But first we have to create a secret identity and a power base. An eleven-year-old, even in disguise, would look very suspicious, waltzing into this tiny society and suddenly making a boatload of money.**_

_I wonder why we have to buy all this stuff, _Tom mused, looking at his bags of robes. _They're wizards. Can't they just make this stuff themselves?_

_**Conjuring is a pretty difficult art. I think that there's just very few people who can actually make a robe or whatnot appear out of thin air, and there's probably more complicated steps in maintaining it. Dumbledore is probably one of those people who don't have to spend any money on clothes, though. **_

_How do you know? Other than "he's super powerful"?_

_**Look at what he's **_**wearing**_**. You think people can sell stuff like that normally and still turn a profit? **_

_Well…why did we have to buy so many robes, anyway? I can duplicate candy. Duplicating robes shouldn't be _that _big of a deal, right? We could have just bought one good one!..._

_**I repeat: Wizards are morons.**_

"This is the last stop," Professor Dumbledore said, "and it is one I think you will like very much, Tom."

"I think so, too, sir," Tom murmured respectfully. The store they had stopped in front of was named _Ollivander's – Quality Wands since 382 B.C._

_Was Britain even civilized that long ago?_

_**I have no idea. Do I look like a liberal arts major to you?**_

The shop was dark and musty, and consisted of an entire wall filled with boxes. An old man with a sharp pointed noise and piercing gray eyes leaned against the counter, and smiled toothily as they walked in. "Hogwarts, hm, Albus?"

"Yes, Garrick," Professor Dumbledore said. "This is Mr. Tom Riddle."

"How do you do," Tom said automatically.

"Just as ever," Ollivander rasped. "But enough of this chit-chat, eh? Let's get you a wand."

He snatched a random box off the shelf and handed it to Tom (cherry and unicorn hair; ten inches), and before either he or Jerry could even touch it for a proper look, it had been snatched away again. Tom couldn't help this one – that jump of shock had been genuine.

"Don't worry, Tom," said Professor Dumbledore. "He's always like this."

"Um…okay?"

"No, no, not at all…try this one! Oak and dragon heartstring, twelve inches." Ollivander grinned, handing Tom a different box.

That one got snatched away as quickly as the first one. And the next one. Ollivander let Tom hold the fourth, only for a window to explode. And then after that, the desk splintered, and floorboards started coming out. Oddly enough, Ollivander kept smiling, even when Tom stopped profusely apologizing for all the damage done to the shop and settled for wincing instead.

"Tricky customer, eh? I always like a challenge."

_Does he even know what he's doing? Or is he just using your Gobosort algorithm?_

_**It's Bogosort.**_

_Whatever._

"Am I just a really bad wizard?" Tom asked meekly.

"Not at all. You're just a very…complicated personality," Ollivander explained. "The wand chooses the wizard, not the other way around, and no two wands are alike. I wonder…" his grey eyes shifted slowly over to Professor Dumbledore. "…here." He produced another box. "Try this. Yew and phoenix feather, thirteen and a half inches."

Tom touched it resignedly, and was surprised to find that instead of the normal violent reaction, there was a warm feeling in his arm. Some bright silver sparks erupted out of the end, bathing the inside of the shop in a bright glow.

Tom stared at it contemplatively. "…Is that a good thing?"

"Well, of course. Any match is a good one. But how curious. How very, very curious." At this, Ollivander looked between him and Professor Dumbledore.

Dumbledore was quiet for a moment, before asking, "Was it one of the two, Garrick?"

Ollivander smiled. "Oh, yes it was, as a matter of fact."

"Excuse me?" Tom asked. "Is there some trouble?"

"Oh, no, not at all. You see, it just so happens that the phoenix feather that makes up the core of your wand was donated by Fawkes – my familiar," Professor Dumbledore told him kindly. (What was it with this man and being kindly?) "Fawkes has only given two feathers in his lifetime, and now one of them is yours."

"And the other one, not sold yet," Ollivander shrugged. "Still, it is interesting. Very interesting."

"Oh. Okay, then," Tom said.

"That will be five Galleons," said Ollivander, and Tom paid him accordingly.

There wasn't much else to do, now that the shopping had finished, and Dumbledore had to get back to the school to start preparing more lesson plans, anyway. So with that, he returned Tom to the orphanage, and after some more obligatory exchanging of pleasantries and instructions on how to get to Platform 9 ¾ (because apparently, while most conservative wizards were against the idea of Muggle technology, they had no problem in boarding a massive red steam engine), Tom was alone with Jerry again.

_I'd say that was an informative day, _Tom mentioned, opening up the lawbook and starting to read. It was highly boring, like all law books were, but it was not as complicated as Muggle laws, simply because wizards hadn't figured out what earmarks were yet, even thousands of years after the first civilizations had sprung up. Anyway, he had plenty of fun every time he came across one of the more ridiculous, wizard-level eccentric sorts of laws ("Turning one's neighbor into a hippopotamous on Tuesdays is illegal") that prompted the question of the background context of the law.

_**Does that mean it's legal on Wednesdays? **_Jerry wondered.

_Too bad you're not allowed to use magic underage._

_**We should test our boundaries. I notice Dumbledore forgot to tell us it was illegal to practice magic outside of Hogwarts before graduation. **_

_How far do you think my boundaries will be, before someone else gets mistaken for my magic, anyway? There's got to be more wizard kids in London, right?_

_**We'll see. For now, let's finish that book. Thank Zoroaster you've got an eidetic memory.**_

_Zoroaster?_

_**I'm atheist.**_

_Oh for the love of Pete…_

In fact, as the lawbook went on, the less and less it seemed to make sense. Half of the laws Tom didn't think anyone even remembered well enough to apply. However, the few important rules scattered about in there were worth the idiocy. And when Tom and Jerry said _important_, they meant the loopholes that could be exploited from those rules, not the actual rules themselves.

For example, the description of underage magical restrictions, through the wording, implied that it could only be detected within the building where said child was residing. If there were multiple children within a building, the Ministry depended on the presence of responsible adults for discipline.

_Obviously, this gives the children with less scrupulous magical parents a distinct advantage._

_**Well, of course. It's not really about forbidding underage magic; it's about preventing stupid little kids from accidentally poking someone's eyes out and causing months of bureaucratic backlog. They probably figured that if a parent let their kid cheat, it would be fine because the parent would be there to prevent the worst of the damage.**_

_Or they could just be to incompetent to bother with fixing a flawed system._

_**That, too.**_

Though Tom was a fast reader, and Jerry was experienced enough to help Tom through some of the more technical legal jargon so that he wouldn't have to waste five minutes staring at the same line, it still took the rest of the day and a little over an hour of reading under the sheets with a glowing ball of magic for light to finish the rest of the book.

But at least all that was the worst of it. The cumulative legal portfolio of the past few centuries' worth of Wizarding legislation, including the useless and overly complicated ones, was easily thicker than any other three of the rest of the textbooks combined – possibly longer than _all _of them, if all the font was the same size (all the first year textbooks had HUGE print, while the law book was almost completely written in fine print).

The next day, Tom woke up early, swore as he realized he could no longer use magic to finish his chores, and then decided that since he was never told explicitly that he couldn't, anyway, decided to wandlessly try it. When nothing happened for a few hours, Tom shrugged, and decided that until they sent him some sort of warning or deposited some wizard policemen at his doorstep, he continued to work as normal. He burned through all of the coursework like mad. There was nothing that he couldn't memorize at first reading, no spell that he couldn't perform perfectly on the first try.

Of course, he still left his room at regular intervals so that people wouldn't be suspicious, and gave the excuse that he had been "randomly" selected by the government for a special program when questioned about that mysterious school that he was going to be attending in the fall.

The last book he picked up was _Hogwarts, a History_. He had deliberately procrastinated on reading that particular one because of previously poor experiences with other history textbooks (including the standard first-year text). After all, if the Muggle ones were bad, just how skewed were the wizards? The wizarding population was very small – whereas one could fine hundreds of different historians arguing on one topic at a single university in London, there might be only one or two guys dictating the whole thing in Magical Britain.

Tom took everything he read with a barrel of salt.

Thankfully, it turned out to me much more entertaining in a good way than the law book and the other first-year history text was in a bad way, which was something. Apparently not all wizards (or witch, since the author was one Bathilda Bagshot) were completely incompetent.

There were, however, still a few issues. It was no fault of the author, but Tom (mostly due to Jerry's rather overly logical interjections) was constantly questioning the so-called traditions of these wizards.

Not that he was going to scream it aloud where everyone could hear him. He knew quite well how touchy people could get about foreigners insulting their culture, regardless of how right or reasonable said foreigner was. Even now, there were certain cultures that still actively condoned sex-selective infanticide, among other things.

_Weird…so they sort kids here according to personality? _Tom asked as he read. _How do they even know this? Do they even know what psychologists or personality tests are? Or do they read our minds?_

_**There's this magic hat that they put on your head, and then it shouts out for the world to hear if you're a loudmouthed idiot, a boring nerd, a lying cheater, or a pushover who will never get anywhere in life.**_

…_Are you serious?_

_**I was serious about the wizards, wasn't I?**_

_Wait, so does this hat read your mind?_

_**I guess…**_

_How are we supposed to get out of this one?_

_**We don't. But luckily, there's confidentiality involved. The hat's not allowed to tell anyone about anything it saw in your head.**_

_Are you sure? How do you know?_

_**Because things. And wizards don't make sense.**_

_How are you being so calm about this? You were completely freaking about about Dumbledore being able to read our minds before!_

_**Yeah…well…it's even more suspicious declining to be Sorted, right?**_

_I suppose so. But if that hat thing DOES blab, how are we going to pass this off?_

_**Cry. Cry deeply.**_

_I'm being serious!_

_**You really think they'll believe that a crying kid is going to become a Dark Lord one day?**_

_Genghis Khan probably cried as a kid, too._

_**Logical wizards is an oxymoron, Tom. Remember that.**_

_What about Dumbledore? Will he believe the hat?_

_**If worst comes to worst, just pretend to have a change of heart. People can change between the ages of eleven and seventeen.**_

…_Fine._

_**Anyway, now that you know what all the Houses represent, which House do you want to be doomed to for the next seven years of your life?**_

_What, you get to choose? I thought it was like the wands._

_**Yeah, well, apparently the Hat takes your choice into account. Apparently, everyone's smart enough to determine their fate for the rest of their lives by choice alone.**_

_At age eleven._

_**Wizards are stupid; have I mentioned that? **_

_I like Slytherin, but you said that was the house of lying cheaters, so would that hurt our chances in lying low? Maybe I could throw everyone off by being sorted into Gryffindor._

_**Maybe. You want a house that would optimize your recruiting potential. You will need plenty of accomplices to get this whole "World Domination" thing up to speed. At this point in time, the Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry is probably not that strong, but it's still there. You'd have better luck in the middle ground houses. The centrist political strategy and all that.**_

_Yeah, well, Hufflepuffs aren't taken too seriously, are they? So that just leaves Ravenclaw. The house of the smart kids. I can live with that. _

_**There are actually plenty of respectable Ravenclaws. Not all of them are completely boring.**_

_Did you plan for me to choose Ravenclaw?_

_**Well, it's not like there's any other House that will allow you to maximize your recruitment potential. If you're going to have minions, you should get smart ones. Ravenclaw's the best House to start. **_

_What about Slytherin? Cunning and ambition have to count for something, right? The fact that they have two different houses for "intelligent" and "clever" mean that there has to be a visible difference._

_**Slytherin…eh. I guess once upon a time, that was true. Now the whole value system has been oversimplified and bastardized.**_

_How so?_

_**Well, in Slytherin House, half of it's true cunning, and then the other half is a bunch of spoiled brats sitting on their parents' fortunes.**_

_Let me guess…they only got into Slytherin because they "chose" that House at the urging of their parents or grandparents who truly deserved to go there._

_**Pretty much. **_

_But Evil Overlords need dumb mooks, too, don't they?_

_**You never actively recruit dumb mooks yourself. None of the dirty work should be traced back to you. Ever.**_

_Ah, the chain of command. I see._

_**Exactly. Find yourself a few people who are smart, and, if not trustworthy, then at least not smart enough to fool **_**you**_**, to deal with directly. It'll be too hard to keep track of thousands of minions and wondering just which one is going to betray you. **_

_Let me guess: preferably people who you can also fool to think that _they _are the ones controlling you when in fact it is the other way around? _

_**Mind control always helps, too.**_

_But never mind control them directly, right? You have to mind control someone to mind control someone else in a massive chain – no, a massive complicated _web _– and have them wipe their own memories afterwards so that no one can ever trace it back to you. And while we're on that topic, why don't we gain control of the underworld black market while we're at it?_

_**You know me too well.**_

Tom turned the page and continued to read. All citation failures aside, Bathilda Bagshot truly was a pleasant surprise compared to the rest of wizarding authors, considering that she wasn't afraid to mention multiple versions of the same story and give equal credence to each. It wasn't long, though, before he had questions again.

_Hey…it says here that Salazar Slytherin can speak to snakes._

_**So it does.**_

_And it says that his gift is hereditary._

_**So it is.**_

_And all of his direct descendants are Parselmouths._

_**So they are.**_

…

…

_HOW DOES THAT EVEN WORK? THAT COMPLETELY DEFIES GENETICS! EVEN IF IT WAS A COMPLETELY DOMINANT GENE AND THE SLYTHERIN LINE INBRED LIKE CRAZY THERE SHOULD STILL BE PEOPLE WHO GET BOTH RECESSIVE TRAITS! WHAT THE HELL! DOES MAGIC SIMPLY EXIST TO MAKE GREGOR MENDEL CRY – _

_**Interesting.**_

_What?_

_**I would have thought you would have drawn the conclusion that since you can speak to snakes as well, you must be a descendant of Salazar Slytherin, too. That fact that you're more concerned about the genetic implications seems to be –**_

_Because we both already know that! You're not stupid; we both came to the same conclusion. To say so again would be redundant._

_**Oh. I see.**_

_Anyway, I'm pretty sure that it was my mother who was the magical one, because who else but a witch would have a father named "Marvolo"? Speaking of magical relatives, I wonder if they're still alive. I mean, it's not every day a witch dies in a Muggle orphanage, right?_

…_**Trust me. You're better off in this orphanage than with your magical relatives.**_

_Why?_

_**Well…you remember that comment you made earlier about inbreeding?**_

…

...

_...Oh, god._

_**Yeah. **_

_Okay._

**_Mmm-hmmm..._**

_How bad is it?  
_

_**Let's just say that they made the Hapsburgs look completely normal.**_

_Mentally or physically?_

…_**Both.**_

_That's…_

_**...Yeah.**_

_Wait – so why am I not a deformed hemophiliac or whatever?_

_**Well, your father was a Muggle. Fresh genes and all that.**_

_This makes no sense. One generation of fresh genes can't do THAT much…can it?_

_***Magic!***_

_Oh, come on. Surely you must be exaggerating their excessive faults…_

_**The Hapsburgs inbred for a few generations during the Holy Roman Empire era. The Slytherins have been inbreeding since the 900s when Hogwarts was founded.**_

_Yikes._

_**One day we might go visit your relatives. **_

_I'm guessing it's not for a very philanthropic cause._

_**Our dream is to become a Dark Lord. Since when were we philanthropists?**_

_Oh, I don't know. That Machiavelli book you made me read talked about being nice and merciful when you could use it to your advantage…_

_**Still makes you a selfish bastard.**_

_Well, THEY don't need to know, do they? I'm sure idiots always have some use. After all, what is family for except eliminating your competition to the throne?_

_***Sniff sniff***_

_What's wrong?_

_**Nothing…I'm just so…I'm just so…**_

_You're so…what? Are you all right? You're not going to go insane on me, are you? Jerry, are you all right – _

_**I'M JUST SO **_**HAPPY**_**! I KNEW I raised you right!**_

_Oh, for the love of –_


	3. Inspiration

A/N: Still looking for a cover, if any of you artsy folks are interested. Even though, in hindsight, having an adorable baby rabbit as the mascot for a story about world domination is pretty damn funny...

* * *

_"__50\. My main power sources will have their own special operating system that will be completely incompatible with the accepted standard."_

After a few more weeks of spell practicing, Tom and Jerry eventually concluded that the "no magic outside of school" rule only applied once you started Hogwarts. Therefore, they tried cramming as much as they could into their brains – well, more like Tom's _brain _(singular) – before that grace period was up and they would be restricted for another seven years. Or, at least, be burdened with the inconvenience of walking all the way out of the orphanage into a different wizard's zone every time he wanted to practice magic over the summer.

Not that it was _im_possible to convince Mrs. Cole to let him go out with just a bit of charm and a false smile…it was just that she'd probably send some other kids to go with him to make sure he didn't get kidnapped or something. And taking the time to give them the slip would be extremely annoying. Especially since everyone liked following him around everywhere. That was one of the downsides of being the nice kid that no one could hate.

Or, they could just find some younger Muggle-born children in the vicinity, kill their parents, wait for the government to relocate them to Wool's Orphanage, and subsequently blame everything they did on said other child's accidental magic. It wouldn't be hard - Hogwarts apparently had this magical ledger that wrote down the names of all the magical children born in Great Britain at any given time.

Of course, they'd have to get away from the orphanage long enough to use magic in the first place...

Tom just didn't want the magical community to be able to track him down somehow. Unlikely, since he would be outside of his zone in the first place, but, you know. He'd have to make it look like they died through Muggle means. Like a gas leak. Oh, that would be brilliant. Wait for the child to go off somewhere - at this point, the mother would probably be at home doing homely things, and the father would also be at home because he was unemployed thanks to the Great Depression - and then take a wrench to the pipes and wait.

Suffocation would be slow, but they could always hope for someone to unwittingly light a cigarette.

_**This **_**is _1937, after all._**

But they'd burn that bridge when they got there. Currently, Tom was simply holed up in his room and making the occasional knockers go away by saying, "Sorry, I'm busy right now. Maybe next time?" and smiling.

It was amazing, what you could do, by phrasing a command as a suggestion.

Tom was burning through all of his coursework with maddening ease. By the time August rolled around, Tom had finished every single spell mentioned in the first-year curriculum, and, being the genius he was, also memorized all his textbooks by heart.

_**Holy shit. And I thought Hermione Granger was joking.**_

_What? Who's Hermione Granger?_

_**Someone who was born in, like, 1980.**_

_Was she important?_

_**Sure. Yes. Yes she was.**_

_Was she a witch?_

_**Yes.**_

_Was she important to me in any way? Like, the cause of my future downfall – _

…_**Hey, look! It's a butterfly!**_

_You are SO obvious. How are you my advisor to world domination again?_

_**Hey. You're the one who has to lie to people, not me. I do the theoretical path to conquering, and you do the actual application.**_

The only problem they ran into was a certain passage in the Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook. Something about basilisks, and how their venom could be counteracted by phoenix tears. Then there was a footnote describing phoenixes.

"Phoenixes are magical, immortal birds that, at the end of their lives, burst into flames, and are reborn from the fire. Aside from their healing tears, they are also highly intelligent birds whose tail feathers can be used in wand cores, and whose song can strengthen the pure and noble while striking fear into the hearts of the wicked."

_...That might be a problem._

_**Yes. That might be a problem.**_

_Wait - how do they even know who's wicked or not? Is there, like, Saint Peter in their brains or something?_

**_Maybe it's a psychological effect. _**

_Like that "look inside yourself" bullcrap?_

**_Probably. I mean, it's hypocritical to call yourself good when you judge others for being evil, right? There's no real right or wrong...I mean, for all we know, serial killers are the greatest good this world will ever get, since humans are the greatest causes of pollution and habitat destruction to Mother Earth._**

_A little decrease in the surplus population would do us good..._

**_Ahem._**

_...But not genocide! Because that's stupid, and it cuts down heavily on genetic diversity, which might be highly necessary next time there's some massive outbreak of an incurable plague! Right?_

**_Ah, good, you're learning._**

_So are we evil?_

**_Well...that's debatable. I mean, apart from the whole "taking over the world" and "eliminating your enemies" thing..._  
**

_Well, killing billions of people would be a pain in the ass, yes. And it will get you noticed and reviled. But we won't be killing billions of people because that would be stupid._

**_Yes. Yes, it would be._**

_So are we evil? I mean, I don't think so, but that's just because I don't care about what anyone else thinks. I think that we're totally reasonable beings for wanting the entire earth to ourselves. As long as no one is suffering needlessly, it should be fine, right? _

**_And, well, from a Darwinist viewpoint, we're just ensuring the most comfort for ourselves, right? It's a matter of survival! We HAVE to control everyone in order to be absolutely certain that none of them are going to turn around and kill us! The phoenix song can't blame us for wanting to live, right?_**

_Do you think it'll really take that BS?_

**_I don't know._**

_Ugh. What happens if Professor Dumbledore wants to introduce us to his phoenix?_

**_Well, theoretically, if we just _eliminate _our sense of good and evil, then it won't be able to affect us, right? _**

_I'm not really sure if that will work._

**_Can you learn to just make yourself deaf?_**

_I can try...it shouldn't be too hard, right?_

There were many ways in which magic could be molded, some more easy than others. Thankfully, shutting off one's own senses, like changing colors of everyday items, were among the easy things.

In the privacy of his room, Tom pointed his wand at a book, lazily transfigured into a rabbit, and then snapped its neck, at which point it turned back into a book. Apparently, you couldn't turn non-food items into food items or potential food items (or living things in general, it seemed – although you could certainly get them to _act _like living things). For example, if you transfigured a rubber eraser into a pencil, say, the wood and graphite would remain wood and graphite. But if you turned a rubber eraser into, say, a chicken, it would only _look _like a chicken until you tried to cut it up. Even a _piece_ of chicken would fall apart back into a rubber eraser if you damaged it too much.

Figures, that the number one necessity of basic survival after air and water was unavailable to magic.

Which really worried Tom, because what if you swallowed something _whole_?

Say, someone transfigured a vial of poison into a vitamin pill that was meant to be swallowed, and the pill only turned back into poison when it hit the stomach acid?

**_Why don't we test it?_**

According to the tiny corpses littering the orphanage kitchen after Tom transfigured a few packets of the janitor's rat poison into bits of not-exactly-cheese – _yes_, that was a very, _very_ real method of assassination.

Which begged the question, why didn't wizards outlaw this stuff a long, long time ago?

_Let me guess…wizards are stupid?_

**_Oh, very. I didn't even realize it until now._**

_How has no one been murdered this way, yet? There has got to be SOMETHING against this!_

Besides being inconvenient and dangerous, however, the "no food" rule was also completely senseless. After all, wood was a biotic substance too, wasn't it? It had the same level of complexity compared to animals, since it, too, was composed of cells and whatnot. So why did wood not revert to the original, pre-transfiguration state, when edible things like fruit or protein did? It was possible to change a book into an actual living flower without any damage. You could conjure Devil's Snare out of thin air, and that was as sentient as plants got. But as soon as you made anything remotely edible appear it became little more than an illusion.

_**Maybe it has something to do with energy levels. "Food" is something that will give your body more energy than it takes to digest, and doesn't also kill you. That's why you can make wood or air or water out of nothing. Because the human body can't digest wood.**_

_Maybe._

_**Try changing something into celery. Celery gives you negative calories. I think. I heard lettuce and onions and cucumbers also take more energy to digest than they provide. **_

Tom flicked his wand at one of the books on his nightstand again, and the annoying green vegetable smiled up at him innocently. He tried to break it in half.

It reverted back to a book as soon as the first crack appeared in the stem.

_**WHAT THE HELL?**_

_Well, obviously, that didn't work. Any other brilliant ideas, smart one?_

_**WIZARDS MAKE NO FUCKING SENSE!**_

Tom sighed. _On that note, neither does the spells, in general. I mean, Chinese wizards can make stuff float, too, right? But I doubt they use this bastardized Latin and French and whatever to do it. And I never needed "Wingardium Leviosa" to make things float before, either. A wand, I can understand, because that's a physical tool used to control and channel magic. But words! Why does it matter what you say and how you wave your wand?_

Jerry was silent. Then he suggested, _**Maybe it DOESN'T matter, and all of this spell business is little more than a placebo, to aid in concentration. Maybe it's not**_** what _you say, but the simple fact that you said _something _in the first place. _**_**Maybe**** once upon a time, some wizard found that saying something stupid while he tried to make a feather float simply made it easier. And now everyone is saying "Wingardium Leviosa" because it helped that first guy. **_

_You really think so?_

_**We can test it. You're still fairly young, so you're not so dependent on this spell business just yet, and you're also powerful enough that you've become proficient in controlling your magic before Hogwarts has indoctrinated you in using random words and gestures. Try one of those things that we couldn't do with a wand before, like…I don't know, making the book sprout legs and tap dance.**_

_Is there even a spell for that?...never mind. There probably is. Wizards have absolutely NO sense of practicality whatsoever._

_**Whatever. This is for educational purposes!**_

So Tom pointed his wand at the book and willed it to start tap-dancing.

_Start tap-dancing. Start tap-dancing. Grow a pair legs and start tap-dancing, dammit._

The book slowly and sluggishly raised itself into the air, sprouted some appendages made from thickly rolled paper from between the pages, and began bouncing around awkwardly on top of the nightstand. Gradually, the movements became more certain, until finally, there was a book unmistakeably tap-dancing on his nightstand.

Tom stared, not knowing what to make of the situation.

_**So you can make inanimate objects tap-dance just by **_**wanting **_**it to, but you can't make celery? Celery might as well be WOOD for the amount of nutrition it gives you! WHAT THE HELL?**_

_Jerry…are you sure I'm real, and all of this just isn't some figment of my imagination? Because there's no way anything can make this little sense._

_**Maybe YOU'RE the imaginary one, and I'm lying in the hospital in a coma after getting hit by a truck.**_

_Ha ha ha. Very funny._

_**The important thing is figuring out this food business. I mean, the rule against "no making actual living things" makes sense because you'd have to remember to conjure all the proper nerves and whatnot, and "no making precious metals" is a given because we don't want to get arrested, but…food? What sort of random exception is that? Did someone just pull that rule out of their ass?**_

_Seems like it. I mean, I suppose it could be because proteins, starches, vitamins, and so on are just too complex for the human mind to imagine. So wizards just sort of imagine what food looks like on the surface, but then it's not really food…Maybe that's why most wizards have trouble conjuring clothes. Because cotton, wool, silk, and other fabrics have complex components…_

_**But plants have complex proteins and starches, too! And I KNOW for a fact that wizards don't know anything about atoms, much less think about the chemical composition of clay every time they make a teacup from a watch!**_

…_This makes no sense. Like everything else. But mainly this. Why is there a stupid rule against FOOD of all things? We actually NEED food to survive! And why is it that you can't CREATE food, but you can INCREASE food? It totally goes against the laws of physics! Physics works the other way around! You can change matter and energy into different forms, just not create or destroy any. So why is it that you can just make _more _food appear, but you can't make food from something else? How is it that plants can grow in nature, and we can make a flower appear but not a carrot?_

_**There's got to be a rule. Something that we're missing.**_

_At least we know that I don't need to know the name of a spell to make it happen. I could get away with anything just by pointing out that I'm a first-year from a Muggle background and would have had no way to learn it!_

_**Wait. Perform Wingardium Leviosa again. Normally. As in, use the actual spell.**_

Tom halted the tap-dancing book and started making it float around.

_**Now go and…make your blankets tie themselves into knots. Using willpower only.**_

Tom did so, not quite sure what Jerry was up to.

_**Now make your bed again.**_

After a little bit of concentration, Tom's sheets were lying as flatly and pristinely as they were before.

_**Now…banish that book across the room and then summon it back again. No spells.**_

There wasn't a spell in the first-year curriculum for summoning and banishing – Tom was sure that a simple action like this would probably have a well-used spell, but it wouldn't be taught until at least fourth year, according to the Educational Standards that had been included in the law registry. Nonetheless, even without any knowledge of how banishing or summoning should work, Tom still quite effortlessly completed the assigned tasks.

It was all about _wanting _something to happen, and even _if _he hadn't mastered this particular skill years ago, it wouldn't be difficult anyway. There was no selfish bastard in the world more selfish than Tom Marvolo Riddle.

And Jerry, too, he supposed, since he was _agreeing _to all this in the first place.

_**Now say Priori Incantatem. It reveals the last few spells your wand performed.**_

"Priori Incantatem," Tom said, sounding quite foolish, and watched as his wand regurgitated the Hover Charm that he used on the book, and, before that, a few of the spells Tom had been practicing from the textbooks.

_**Whoa. Holy crap. Holy mother of Jesus…**_

_What are you so excited about? What was the point of all that?_

_**Don't you see it? This spell is THE number one tool used by law enforcement! But your little "willpower" exercises – the spells that you never had any names or incantations for…**_

…_they don't show up. _

_Wait._

_They don't show up._

_They don't show up!_

_THEY. DON'T. SHOW. UP!_

_**EXACTLY!**_

_Magic performed without words – not nonverbal magic, but simply magic without any reference whatsoever – doesn't show up, because it's _not an actual spell_! And wandless magic won't show up, either. Meaning…as long as all of our dirty work is done using nothing but willpower…_

…_**we can get away with basically anything!**_

_And we can _do _basically anything, too, even _if _we don't know the spell for that!_

_**We can fake spells, too! Like, point a wand at a book and say "Wingardium Leviosa" but don't actually **_**mean **_**it, and watch everyone's faces as it tap-dances across the desk instead!**_

_We can even invent things that don't exist!_

_**Hell, we can just make shit up and publish a book! "Everyone, if you say 'Alfa Kenny Buddy' when you point your wand at a book, it will tap-dance!" Oh my god, I can totally see their faces now! This will be priceless!**_

_"Alfa…Kenny…Buddy…?" Is that another one of your weird futuristic references?_

…_**Maybe.**_

_What does it mean?_

_**I can't tell you.**_

_Why not?_

_**You'll find out later!**_

_Let me guess: it's related to MY future specifically, and it'll cause some weird paradox if you tell me? And why are you laughing?_

_**...Sure. Totally. You know what? I can totally see it happening.**_

_What?_

_**Listen. Your dad might be a Muggle, but thank the gods of genetics you got his physical appearance.**_

_What does that have to do with anything? We were talking about spells!_

_**Nothing. You'll find out when you're older.**_

_Tell me!_

_**I will. Eventually.**_

_Well, you're no fun._

_**Oh, that's what YOU think.**_

After some more wasted minutes of nagging, to no avail, Tom gave up on wheedling the answer out of Jerry and went back to testing the unwritten rules of magic that none of these goddamned wizards ever bothered to write down. More specifically, none of them probably tried to question it. Or, if they did, then they probably gave up after seeing the sheer uselessness of it all and ended up ramming their own wands through their ears.

September 1st wasn't for another two weeks, and his world had already begun. Whatever plans Tom had made to sneak back into Diagon Alley to exchange the first-year books for second-year ones were thrown completely out the window.

It had been a pretty _good _plan, too. One, make copies of the originals, so none of the teachers would question him for not having his textbooks, because apparently normal people _didn't _have the ability to memorize textbooks or master new skills that quickly, and revealing the extent of his intelligence this early in the game would be rather dangerous as it would cause him to be labeled as either a threat or a cheat. And then, two, pretend that last time he came the shopkeeper had taken one look at him, automatically assumed that he was a first-year, and given him the wrong set all because he was naturally short.

But now he didn't even have to walk all the way to the Leaky Cauldron again.

He didn't need any of that incantation business. Hell, it would probably even slow him down because the transition from verbal to nonverbal spells was a lot harder than the other way around – and why do things the hard way?

Then again, he'd probably have to memorize the spells anyway. Just to keep up appearances and whatnot, you know?

He'd burn that bridge when he got there, too.

In any event, by the time the summer had come, at the end of two weeks of nonstop testing, Tom had determined the following:

\- A wizard doesn't need to know a spell in particular as long as he knows the end result. Given, of course, that he has the intelligence and willpower to follow through.

\- There is no visible energy difference between using a spell and simply wanting something to happen. For most people, however, there _is _a visible difference in effort between learning the spell and learning how to do something without a spell.

\- And apparently it's possible to conjure things that don't exist yet as long as you know what they're supposed to do and how they work. Cue: an integrated circuit in 1937. (Note: it still takes a lot of time and concentration to build because you have to visualize how to form all the internal components properly.)

\- On the other hand, making the magical version of something is relatively easy as long as you vaguely know what you want it to do. You don't even have to know what it looks like on the inside, as long as you can form the interface. Cue: an iPhone in 1937. (Of course, if someone tries to take it apart, you're in trouble.)

\- Historically, the Goblins have a magical contract with the wizards that gives them a monopoly over copper, silver, and gold, which is used to make Wizarding currency, which is why people don't (or maybe _can't_) just randomly conjure it. They also have control over other valuable items like platinum and precious gems.

\- But nowhere does it mention that they have control over the market for highly dense graphite, which _can _be made into diamonds with a few extra pressure spells. It's not illegal! And they won't catch us if we put it into Muggle markets!

\- And none of the above will ever show up if there is no incantation.

\- BUT WE STILL DON'T KNOW HOW TO MAKE FOOD. (Or medicine, after that failed attempt to make the cure for polio.)

_Wizards. Don't. Make. Sense!_

_**No. No, they don't.**_

Still, apart from the entire "ingestible materials" debacle (which was really, really, _really _getting on Tom and Jerry's nerves), most of the loopholes they had figured out about the nature of magic itself was pretty useful. Given the rather clueless nature of most wizards, Jerry doubted that any of them even _knew _about these special rules (or, if they did, were too ingrained in tradition to attempt it), and Tom had to agree.

The only downside to all this new knowledge was that they currently could not use it to their advantage – simply accumulate it. (Well, maybe that was a good thing – it would earn them points in the "thirst for knowledge" category, which would definitely help them convince the Sorting Hag to put them in Ravenclaw, which would be a lot more beneficial to their Dark Lord conspiracy in the long run.) But the point was, Tom could not go around as an eleven-year-old marketing an iPhone when he had no idea how it worked, or selling diamonds when he had no titles to any mines for his name and end up getting arrested for stealing by Muggle authorities.

He'd have to learn how to properly mind-control people first, so he could use middle-men as puppets to sell the product for him. And that was a lot harder than it sounded. The human mind was a delicate thing, and though willpower alone was enough to make random things appear out of thin air, Jerry didn't want to risk accidentally permanently damaging the minds of anyone around them.

The Ministry probably could only tab actual spells, not this willpower thing, but still – if random people in the orphanage where Little Tommy lived started behaving weirdly like they were brain-damaged, there would be inconvenient questions. Maybe the Ministry wouldn't figure it out, but Albus Dumbledore certainly would.

Little Tommy the orphan about to go to Hogwarts practicing spells in his bedroom to catch up to the other kids – whatever. Little Tommy the orphan practicing _Confundo_, which is a rather advanced spell,on Muggles – not okay.

Ugh. Why did things like _rules _have to exist?

But they didn't have the time to wander around on the cold, gray streets of London, and the matron wouldn't let an eleven-year-old boy go off on his own, anyway. Tom would have to wait until Hogwarts to practice and perfect his mind-controlling abilities without getting caught, and maybe later he could "persuade" the matron to let him wander about come second year without rendering her an unresponsive vegetable. Some of the older teenagers, she ignored, but the younger children who still had a chance of getting adopted (the number was still very low, as Tom had unfortunately been born right before the Great Depression hit) had to be kept safe – or at least innocent enough to look good in front of potential families.

_"Alfa…kenny…" _

…_I don't get it._

* * *

A/N: Tom having mastered nonverbal magic isn't at all that unrealistic, to me. One, he already managed to figure out how to do a ton of stuff without verbalizing spells, using a wand, _or _having a teacher, and he wasn't even eleven yet. Two, I never understood all the business with _spell _spells in the first place, as you can probably tell by Jerry's outbursts.

Just in case anyone felt like screaming "Gary-Stu!" Hey, we're taking over the world. There has to be _some _degree of perfection involved, right? Otherwise we wouldn't be worthy in attempting global domination.


	4. Spirit

EDIT: So sorry guys. I spotted a typo and went back to fix it. I must have accidentally hit 'delete' while replacing the chapter. Still new to this site, so forgive my technological impairments.

* * *

A/N: WARNING – potentially offensive material somewhere down there. Keep in mind that this is the 1930s, and certain terms and views considered politically incorrect now were completely normal back then.

* * *

_"17. Advisors exist for their advice to be listened to. That is why, when I have advisors, I will occasionally listen to their advice."_

Tom had to depart from Wool's Orphanage in regular attire, in order to blend in with the rest of the environment. Thankfully, though, that was the only concession he had to make that day, as Mrs. Cole had deemed him responsible enough to get to the train station without running into trouble or taking mysterious detours through shady alleys. Along the way, Tom managed to make no less than three old people faint with his failed attempts at mind control, and decided to save the practice for later.

_**I TOLD you, but did you listen? No! You're lucky that all they did was faint, because if heads suddenly started exploding you'd be in big trouble!**_

_Okay! Fine! I said I was sorry! I don't see what the fuss is all about!_

_**It's called "giving yourself away," you idiot. People don't conquer the whole damn world in just a day! You can wait a week or two as you get settled in Hogwarts and figure out the best targets and points to practice.**_

_Ugh! Fine. You don't have to whine so much about it._

_**I'd rather not get expelled or thrown into Azkaban for using magic on some random Muggles and making them faint. Honestly.**_

_What? We're way beyond the orphanage point, aren't we? _Sure enough, the public trolley had stopped in front of the train station, where many other wizard families were presumably going to take their children to the Hogwarts train. Some of them were doing a horrible job at trying to be Muggle, and these men in dresses and striped bathing suits were garnering some rather odd stares (honestly, how difficult was the concept of shirts and trousers? You people WEAR these clothes _underneath _your robes on a daily basis!). Others, probably the rich and proud purebloods, didn't bother to dress up at all, and were strolling along, robes and all. Ironically, these people were less obtrusive than the failed attempts at dressing up like Muggles, because wizard robes were basically little more than fancy trench coats that didn't have pockets.

They certainly looked less insane than men in dresses.

At least the funny sights were enough to get Jerry to stop throwing a fit at him. All right, so what he did was stupid. But at least he picked his targets carefully. They were all different people on different trains, so it wasn't like they'd single him out as the greatest common factor anytime soon, and anyway, old ladies fainted all the time.

_God, they're so wonderfully clueless, aren't they? _Tom asked.

_**Reminds me of an old joke I heard, **_Jerry snickered.

_What? _Tom asked, interested.

Now, normally, he hated jokes. Especially the stupid ones that other kids in the orphanage told. They were usually senseless puns or something immature and related to human excrement. With Jerry (and most other adults, he suspected), however, a "joke" was usually something far more subtle and often cutting in nature.

It was too bad that about a third of the time, Jerry would refuse to tell him said joke – usually on the grounds that Tom was too young for that sort of joke. (In that case he wouldn't actually _announce _that he had a joke – he'd just snicker quietly to himself and refuse to explain why he was laughing.) Now, Tom didn't quite understand why Jerry could say that he was too young for something as simple as a joke and then lecture him on twenty-first century scientific principles, but who was he to judge? All of the jokes he had heard from Jerry so far would go way over the heads of the other eleven-year-olds in the orphanage. Perhaps those secret jokes in Jerry's arsenal were really just that advanced. Tom couldn't wait until he was old enough to understand them.

He didn't like a lot of people, and he certainly had no need for something as useless as _love_, but Jerry was quite an amicable and amusing companion. And since they shared the same mind, anyway, he supposed he should have gotten used to Jerry's presence sooner or later. They weren't exactly the same person, but they might as well be, and that was as good of an excuse for him as anything for liking a different person than himself. (Tom, personally, divided people into three groups – the useless, who were meant for subjugation, the useful, whom he allotted time to proportional to their levels of usefulness, and companions. Of the last group, there was only one person in there, and that was himself. And, by default, Jerry, who was also a part of him.)

So when Jerry said that he had a joke, it usually meant that something darkly good, or at least informative, was coming, and it would do him well to listen.

Either that, or dead babies.

_**All right. It's not so much of a joke as a life lesson, as said by this one Prussian general: "I divide my officers into four groups – the intelligent, the stupid, the hardworking, and the lazy. Each officer possesses at least two of these qualities. The hardworking and intelligent are fit for general duties. The lazy and stupid can have some use in menial tasks. The intelligent and lazy are fit for positions of highest command, for they will find the most efficient ways to complete a given task."**_

_And what of the stupid and hardworking officers?_

_**"They are a menace and must be disposed of immediately."**_

Tom snorted aloud and hastily pretended that he was sneezing. _Like those idiots who are trying so hard to dress like Muggles and still failing?_

_**It would probably be a lot better for the International Statute of Secrecy that those people just not be allowed to leave their homes, yes.**_

…_And this is why we will change on the train._

_**"Change" is a bad word…really, you're just pulling a robe over your regular clothes.**_

_True, true._

It was not long before they found the barrier between platforms 9 and 10. Besides the completely arbitrary nature of the number, Tom had to wonder if these people ever thought things through before doing something. Surely, someone had to realize that putting a portal right in the middle of one of the busiest crossroads in England would draw attention? Or was there some secret spell that made Muggles ignore a whole crowd of randomly dressed people walking straight at a brick wall and then disappearing?

_**There probably is. But we will NOT be attempting that until we master basic mind control first, all right? **_

_No making people's eyeballs pop out of their heads; I GOT IT._

Rather than running headfirst at a brick wall like so many other idiots, Tom simply eased his way through the bricks casually like he always belonged there. After he got over the novelty of a giant red train appearing out of nowhere just as Diagon Alley had (did these wizards _not _realize the implications, the power and potential, that they had, bending time and space like that? For all their ingenuity, Muggles were still working their arses off trying to figure out subatomic physics and astronomy and all that, and then these wizards who don't even have the _concept _of the scientific method down create volumetric anomalies like Americans shot guns!) he realized that this had about zero difference from any other train platform, aside from the people it serviced.

_**Yeah, I don't really get space-expansion charms, either.**_

_I don't get the concept of "poor wizards." They shouldn't need gold to buy anything except food. Theoretically they could all live in mansions the size of closets._

_**Probably because not everyone is a genius like you, Mr. I-learned-how-to-conjure-furniture-before-Hogwarts.**_

_I still have to learn these space-expansion charms, though. I still can't wrap my head around the concept of something being bigger on the inside than the outside. And I still can't understand why a simple incantation makes things that much easier._

_**Well, it doesn't, does it? At least, not for you. Those charms are actually pretty advanced – most wizards take a long time to master it, if they can at all, even **_**with **_**the incantation. You've only had your wand for a little over a month.**_

_I guess you're right._

_**For now, let's just get on the train, find a bathroom or an empty compartment, and fix your robes. Can't have you making allies in rags.**_

_They're not…rags, _Tom protested indignantly._ They might not be top-of-the-line designer robes, but I made sure that they didn't come from the bottom of the bin._

_**Whatever. It shouldn't take you long to make them look new, even if you didn't have magic.**_

_Why do you say that?_

**Really?**_** You're an **_**orphan**_** living in **_**Great Britain**_**. You should have gotten all of your fingers **_**chopped off**_** in a **_**textile factory**_** at the age of **_**five**_**.**_

_For your information, the Victorian era ended a few decades ago, you old man._

_**Old man? YOU'RE the one who was born in nineteen-freaking-twenty-six.**_

_Now, now, respect your elders._

_**Damn it. You're **_**learning**_**.**_

_Sucker._

But Tom did end up fixing up the frayed edges and reapplying some of the faded dye on the uniform that he had brought along in his carry-on bag. Really, compared to some of the things that he had been attempting in the past few weeks, it was a walk in the park. He wasn't changing the chemical composition of anything, nor was he stretching his mind to visualize a situation that wasn't common knowledge. Fixing clothes was something all the orphans had experience with.

The only tricky part was making him look good enough so that people wouldn't turn up their noses at him right away, without making him look _too _snobbish that it became obvious. Seeing as Dumbledore had shopped with him and everything. Besides, pulling the "poor little orphan" card could be helpful at times.

_Now what?_

_**Now, we look for potential allies. If there's an established group, leave them alone and don't try to take them on until you have an established group of your own. Now, if they're a group of newly formed friends, as in, they look like they still don't know each other that well, then by all means, worm your way in and subtly establish yourself as a leader.**_

_Understood. _As mentioned before, while Jerry was the idea man, Tom was best at practical applications. He had done this all the time in the orphanage and at school, easy. In all seriousness the orphanage probably had prepared Tom better for life than two loving parents – there were certain skills useful to future politicians that could be picked up in childhood, especially when one was constantly surrounded by large numbers of other children.

There was no escape for Tom. If a regular kid got bullied at school, he could at least come crying home to his parents. But orphans were surrounded by the unsympathetic public day in and day out. It may not have been the most nurturing environment, but the few who thrived (read: Tom) could become especially used to the same group behavior in adults.

They were sheep, the lot of them.

If, in another life, Tom was reborn as a wolf, he'd be ready.

_**And also, don't surround yourself with cronies. Having useless friends is helpful simply because it makes your support base look bigger than it is, but you also need relatively smart people to cancel it out.**_

_So, in short: look for loners who seem relatively smart, gather them all up into a group, and then start assimilating the other stragglers like the Soviets annex territory, until your group is large enough to cannibalize the pre-formed cliques?_

…_**Yes. Yes, exactly like that.**_

_Maybe we should just abandon Hogwarts and make a living as a sociologist._

_**We'd probably get into trouble for expressing fascist ideas or something.**_

_Damn the status quo!_

The first person Tom happened to run into was an abnormally short boy (even for an eleven-year-old) named Filius that just absolutely had to be part-goblin given the shape of his ears and limb-torso proportions. Now, _how _his parents thought cross-species interbreeding would be possible was a mystery to both of them, although Jerry seemed more bothered by it than he did. Tom was more concerned about the implications of this genetic mixing and wondered if any new diseases could be introduced to humans in this manner. On the other hand, Jerry seemed rather confused as to how a child could even be produced in the first place.

_Well, goblins _are _relatively humanoid, _Tom suggested, _so maybe they have a functional but sterile child. Kind of like how mules come from horses and donkeys._

_**I mean position-wise. How would that even work? There has got to be at least a 1-meter height difference between the parents…and don't even get me started on Hagrid; that guy's half-giant. How would his father have even reached…?**_

_What position? I don't understand._

_**Never mind.**_

_Half-giant?_

_**He's a bit younger than you. I think you'll meet him in your third or fourth year?**_

_This is SO weird._

Despite his genetic abnormalities, however, Filius proved to be a rather intelligent person. Not as intelligent as Tom, of course, but he was not at all bad company. Better a kid half your size who knew what he was doing than a brute twice your size who didn't.

After a bit more wandering around, they came across a bespectacled girl named Minerva, who was talking to another rather plump girl named Pomona. All of them were first-years who didn't have very many friends yet (or "not-quite-friends", in Tom's case), and he decided that he might as well start there. They weren't complete idiots, and Minerva might even give him a run for his money in the "preparedness for school" department, as she, too, had read all of her books beforehand.

Though the fact that he would have some potential competition was annoying at first, Jerry managed to convince him that her existence was quite convenient for Tom, because she was the reference marker for the difference between "reasonably intelligent" and "just completely batshit insane." Therefore, when they got to classes, Tom would have to make sure to hover about her equal in academics – too much smarter, and people would probably look at him like he was an alien from another planet.

If wizards even entertained the idea of extraterrestrial intelligent life.

That seemed to be the extent of intelligent life for the first-years. Anyone else worth talking to was already older than him, and therefore had the advantage of already having a pre-established social circle. Still, Tom managed to make himself known among them by the time the train stopped at Hogwarts, at least.

Something about "accidentally" running into a bully (third-year, in Hufflepuff, surprisingly) – and no, he hadn't gone around seeking out bullies to bully on purpose at Jerry's urging; what are you talking about? – and levitating a pumpkin pasty so that it dropped right onto his face – in front of a large group of upperclassmen.

The Ravenclaws would like him for taking the initiative to master a few spells before Hogwarts. The Hufflepuffs liked him for putting that blemish on their House's reputation in his place. The Gryffindors liked him for being noble. The Slytherins analyzed his display of power and decided that he would probably become pretty powerful in the future despite the fact that he wasn't pureblood. And it wasn't suspicious at all, because he didn't use any dark curse, because he was working in self-defense and not as an instigator, and because Minerva and Filius knew how to perform _Wingardium Leviosa_, too, so it wasn't like he was _too _far ahead of the curve.

Really, the only unusual thing about the whole situation was the _manner _in which he applied the spell, but that could be as easily attributed to a little first-year desperately using the only spell in his arsenal on the only loose object in sight as it could to an aspiring Evil Overlord taking very careful advantage of a planned situation to earn the respect and trust of a large group of future allies.

Occam's Razor and all that. Oh, _boy_ were they going to milk it for all its worth.

In the end, the only person _really _offended by the whole thing was the bully himself, but he didn't have enough in either the power or the brains department to do anything against Tom. The worst he could do was become an annoying distraction, as no doubt he would hold a grudge against him for this. Then again, annoying distractions could be fatal in crucial times, so maybe they would have to eliminate him in the future. Or maybe Tom could set things up so that said idiot allied himself with Tom's enemies and thereby drag the whole group down.

Then again, it wasn't very wise to let discontent and grudges fester. While it was highly likely that this guy would end up as a no-good bum facedown in a sewer and never end up causing any more damage to him than a wooden dart would to a three-foot-thick castle wall, it was also very possible that his petty revenge could end up triggering a chain reaction that would eventually snowball into something far more dangerous. Given the nature of the occupation of being a Dark Lord, Tom was all too aware of Murphy's Law – anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. It was like the universe had something _against _evil dictators.

Yeah, this guy would be suffering a very tragic and fatal accident in the near future.

He would not be missed. But if he _would _be missed, then it was up to Tom to hunt down those people who would miss him and "accident" him, too. You never knew what idiots might come up with some troll conclusion like "that kid Tom was responsible for his tragic death because he dropped a pie on him on the train in 1937 and so I must take revenge!" and actually be _right_.

But none of that for now. All of the non-first years were already boarding the flying carriages (actually pulled by Threstrals, but Tom hadn't killed anyone yet), leaving the rest to huddle at the edge of the lake. In a short few moments, a little old man appeared by the docks were all of the boats were parked, introduced himself as Ogg, the Keeper of Keys and Grounds of Hogwarts, and herded them all onto the boats.

In a few short moments, Hogwarts became fully visible, and this time, Tom couldn't pretend to deny that it wasn't awe-inspiring. Diagon Alley – whatever. Platform 9 ¾ – it was just like any other train.

A full-size fortress from the High Middle Ages staring down at him?

Somewhere in the back of his head he knew that military bunkers were more secure, but that didn't mean Hogwarts wasn't impressive nonetheless. Unlike Diagon Alley and the train platform, Hogwarts was actually bigger than its Muggle counterpart – the public school Tom had gone to before, as well as the secondary school he should have gone to had Hogwarts not provided him with another alternative, didn't even take up the first floor, even if you included the playgrounds and sports fields. And unfortunately, Tom had never been to a military bunker, so there was nothing in his memory that could debunk the castle's grandness.

_**It's pretty cool, I'll admit, **_Jerry agreed. _**Definitely better than the model at Universal Studios.**_

_What's Universal Studios?_

_**It's a place in Florida that hasn't been built yet.**_

_Futuristic reference?_

_**Yep.**_

The boats hit the opposite shore, and they disembarked and began the short walk up to the castle gates. The large double doors swung open automatically to admit them, and Ogg deposited them in the antechamber. "The Deputy Headmaster will be out soon. In the meantime, don't get yourselves into too much trouble, all right? I've got some business I have to attend to."

Tom vaguely wondered how old Ogg had to be, that he had already forgotten all the dangers of leaving a group of highly excitable children in the same room without adult supervision. Especially when some of those children were brought up in highly bigoted households, and some others were victims of said bigots. And _especially _when all of them were untrained young witches and wizards who already had their wands – which were, in their base forms, simply potential weapons of mass destruction.

That was like locking a bunch of rednecks and blacks in the same room. And all of them had a handgun each, but not all of them knew how to use one.

_**You are so racist!**_

_I'm a future Dark Lord and you're whining about me being _racist_?_

_**We are equal-opportunity employers; don't forget that.**_

Almost immediately, a dark-haired boy with an upturned nose that was clearly destined for Slytherin House on the basis of family tradition if not actual cunning and ambition started picking a fight with another boy who was clearly not filthy rich or 100% wizard.

"Now, stop that!" Minerva stepped forward angrily, her Scottish accent coming out extremely thickly. "If ye haven't anythin' nice ta say, then don't say it at all!"

_Oh, god, _Tom thought. _Here we go._

"And who are you?" Snobbish Brat – now revealed to be one Edmond Lestrange – sniggered. He put on a very bad imitation of Minerva's accent, "Ah, lemme guess – lassie from o'er yonder hill, eh?" There were some snickers, and Minerva turned bright red in anger.

_Shit, shit, what do we do? _he though frantically. _We have to defend Minerva or else we'll look bad, but we can't embarrass this guy like we did to the bully on the train because we might actually need his influence and money later!_

_**Just stop the argument. Keep neutral ground. Then explain to Minerva in private later that although you would have liked to hex him, you didn't want to get in trouble before class even started, and that you didn't want to accidentally insult any influential families, either. She'll understand following the rules, even if we don't get revenge.**_

"Stop it, both of you," Tom said, his voice soft, but commanding. There was no magic involved – just behavorial science, something he had practiced and perfected on the other orphans at Wool's. Even Lestrange, the current big fish of the group, stopped his taunting of Minerva for a few seconds to listen to what this kid had to say. "Or do you want to look like childish fools in front of the entire school before you've even been assigned a House?"

If Lestrange knew who he was, then he would have heard the rumors of a first-year who took out a third-year with nothing more than a Levitation Charm. If Lestrange _didn't _know who he was, then Tom cut a respectable figure anyway. He was relatively tall for an eleven-year-old – not too tall to be awkward, but tall enough so that most people had to look up slightly to meet his eyes – and, with his graceful figure, well-combed hair, pale complexion, and sharp cheekbones, could give even the most stuck-up purebloods a run for their money.

Tom knew he was good-looking. And he wasn't afraid to use it.

_**Oh, just you wait until after your voice cracks. Ovaries will start exploding in your presence.**_

_What does my voice cracking have anything to do with exploding ovaries? That sounds like a very messy and inefficient way to kill someone._

_**It was just an expression!**_

_Futuristic reference?_

_**Your future, not mine.**_

_What?_

"Oh?" Lestrange crossed his arms, injecting some trembling bravado into his voice. "And who are you to tell me what to do?"

"No one," Tom said. "It's a free country, so do what you want. No one's stopping you. I just thought that someone of a supposedly noble house would have the manners to engage in less disgraceful behavior than childish mimicry and squabbles. But of course _you're _too refined for something as petty as that, right?"

"Of course!" Lestrange retorted without thinking, and then realized that he had just walked straight into Tom's verbal trap a second too late. Now he was bound by verbal contract to either stop bullying people, or otherwise accept that he was little more than a petulant child not deserving of his birth title.

_**Ooh, big words! That ought to do it. Nice touch with the Hobson's choice, by the way.**_

Lestrange gave him a funny look, like he didn't know what to do with Tom. Tom _had _tricked him, but he hadn't insulted or offended him. He had simply given the other boy an ultimatum – be mature, or dishonor his own family name and pureblood status – in the most polite and subtle way possible. No one was hurt, and no one was humiliated – or no one _would _be humiliated if Lestrange behaved.

In the end he simply accepted Tom's presence, and regarded him as a respectable person. Not quite a friend, but definitely not an enemy. He had no grounds for hating Tom, and no reason to enact any petty revenge or carry any grudges. Tom had successfully kept him as a potential ally without offending any of his current ones.

It was so much easier to, ah, _persuade _someone if you were on civil terms with them.

Now, if Lestrange had been a bit older, a bit more worldly, then he would have realized that Tom _had_, in actuality, humiliated him, and was a threat to be disposed of immediately. Tom had, after all, called him out in front of a bunch of his peers, and unfairly maneuvered him into accepting a one-sided treaty. In effect, he had undermined Lestrange's status as the dominant fish in this small pond, and now whatever advantage the boy would have had as the firstborn of a prominent Wizarding family had flown out the window. The other first-years were now looking to Tom as their leader – a self-assured, but fair individual, who didn't depend on force but wasn't afraid to use it to defend himself. Kind and trustworthy, but also powerful. Definitely a better choice than Lestrange, who had seemed to be the only option for top dog before.

If Lestrange had been born even a year earlier or later, he might have been able to garner the same influence as the other pureblood heirs – Orion Black, Abraxas Malfoy, and so on. But it was not to be, because Tom Riddle oozed charisma in the bucketfuls from every pore, and Tom Riddle _knew _that he oozed charisma in the bucketfuls from every pore (even if he pretended to be humble and denied that he was any more likeable than anyone else), and Tom Riddle wasn't afraid to _use _all of this excess charisma to his own advantage.

An adult would have recognized this political tactic for what it was, maybe. But Lestrange was only eleven, and everyone else around them was also only eleven, and so the subtlety of Tom's actions flew way over their heads. None of them were consciously thinking about the implications of their actions. They weren't actively picking sides. All they knew was that a fight had started, and Tom had diffused the situation before it could escalate, all without hurting anyone's feelings.

That was enough for them to abandon Lestrange for Tom without a second thought, and none of them even knew that their allegiances had changed.

Jerry was laughing his socks off.

_**And we haven't even been Sorted yet. This just keeps getting better and better.**_

* * *

A/N: I know I have the dates mixed up. I think McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, and Orion Black are all younger than Voldemort, slightly? (Harry Potter wikia says they were born in the 1930s or so.) Oh, well. Whatever. They'd make interesting "friends" anyway.

Edmond Lestrange is named after the actor who played Lestrange, Tom Riddle's classmate, from Slughorn's memory in the HBP movie.


	5. Integrity

WARNING: You know what? I'm just going to put this at the beginning of every chapter. Contrary to how Tom and Jerry behave, I don't actually want to offend any readers. It would make me sad if you stopped reading just because you think I'm going too far.

* * *

**BONUS #1: It's Quiz Time!**

_Hosted by boomvroomshroom, Tom, and Jerry_

_And apologies to Stanley Bing, author of What Would Machiavelli Do? and Sun Tzu Was a Sissy_

_(Thanks for my first 100 reviews, guys!)_

**DO YOU HAVE THE RIGHT MINDSET TO BECOME AN EVIL OVERLORD?**

ANSWER THE FOLLOWING QUESTIONS AND FIND OUT!

**Question 1: **I would be satisfied with…

a. A million dollars.

b. A billion dollars.

c. A gazillion dollars.

d. I have no idea, but I'm not satisfied _now_.

**Question 2:** If I bought a new yacht, it would be…

a. A wonderful, perfect little jewel.

b. Absolutely massive.

c. The biggest goddamned yacht in the whole entire world.

d. I have no idea, but it would be better than _yours_.

**Question 3:** Which House is the best House?

a. Gryffindor.

b. Ravenclaw.

c. Slytherin.

d. Mine.

**Question 4:** If a genie gave you one wish, what would you wish for? (And standard rules apply: no asking for immortality, reviving the dead, making people fall in love with you, or more wishes.)

a. Money.

b. Power.

c. Intelligence.

d. What kind of genie only gives people one wish? I want a less shitty genie.

**Question 5:** Your final meal for death row?

a. Lobster.

b. Rich People Pate de French Thing.

c. Every dish on the planet.

d. You give people final meals? I just shoot them.

**Question 6:** Oh, no! There is a child prophesized to bring about your doom! Quick – what do you do?

a. Deal with him/her when he/she is actually an apparent, visible problem.

b. Send someone out to kill him/her, preferably you most trusted lieutenant or right-hand person.

c. Kill the baby personally, burn his/her corpse just to make sure, and kill all family/friends of any relation to said child for good measure.

d. GUARDS! Bring me my Time-Turner and my trusty rusty coathanger.

**Question 7: **Oh, _god_ no! Death is knocking at your doorstep! Quick – what do you do?

a. Roll over pitifully and die.

b. Cry, beg, and plead for your life.

c. Lie and pretend that he's at the wrong doorstep and that he actually wants your neighbor.

d. _I_ AM THE ONE WHO KNOCKS.

**Question 8:** My ideal form of law and government is…

a. An aristocracy.

b. A monarchy.

c. A fascist military-industrial complex dictatorship state.

d. What are laws?

**Question 9:** I believe that other people should…

a. Get out of my way when I'm walking.

b. Bow and worship me wherever I go.

c. Lay down in my path, so I may walk on top of them.

d. There are other people?

**Question 10:** Who is your role model?

a. Josef Stalin.

b. Genghis Khan.

c. Myself.

d. You're an imbecile.

**Question 11: **What is your greatest fear?

a. My mother.

b. My death.

c. I fear nothing! NOTHING, you hear me?

d. This is getting boring. Get out.

**Question 12: **Who is the most important person in your life?

a. Me.

b. Me.

c. ME.

d. What the hell are you still doing here?

**Question 13:** By the end of the day, I will have…

a. Had lunch with the President/Queen/Czar Putin.

b. Been on the front page of _Forbes_.

c. Bought out, assassinated, or destroyed my greatest competitor.

d. Fuck you, asshole.

**Question 13 1/2: **Any last words?

a. Why, ye - MMMMPFFHHHH!

* * *

_"142. 'Divide and conquer' only works as long as the conquered don't know who's dividing them."_

By the time the great oak doors to the Great Hall finally opened, and Professor Dumbledore made his appearance to welcome the first-years to the start-of-term feast, the group of rowdy young children was deceptively quiet.

"No arguments this year?" his eyes twinkled. "I'm surprised. Normally, all of the troublemakers would have shown themselves by now. Ah, well. We can have thanks for small mercies. The Bloody Baron seems to have done a good job silencing Peeves this year."

Tom was half-afraid that some loudmouth would pipe up about that last bout of political savvy, but luckily, all children are the same in that they never speak about anything they consciously know will get them in trouble. So all of them stood there, wide-eyed and smiling, acting like they were perfect little angels instead of the immature little hellions of thirty seconds ago.

It was then that Tom realized that Ogg probably had been instructed to leave them alone on purpose, and that the teachers of Hogwarts had been using this tactic for years, to figure out just exactly which students they had to watch for. Leave a bunch of impressionable and nervous children inside a room without any adult supervision or some other form of central authority, and watch society break down. All it took was one person. Sometimes, it was a prankster, who told the others excessive rumors about life at Hogwarts that they had heard from older relatives. And sometimes, they were kids like Lestrange, who tried to assert dominance by weeding out the weaklings and picking on them to show their power. The former group were mostly harmless and could be expected to mature; the latter needed to be watched and toned down slightly.

Not that it did much good, since the arrogant upstarts were always sent home every summer for their parents to build up their misplaced ego again.

"Well?" Professor Dumbledore asked, gesturing to the inside of the Great Hall. "The Sorting Ceremony is about to begin."

So the ragtag gaggle of youngsters eventually managed to sort themselves out and slowly walked down the center of the Great Hall, between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables. Above them, the roof had been charmed to look like the night sky – not transparent, but rather, transmitting the image.

_**Television, **_Jerry murmured. _**This might be useful.**_

"When I call your name," Professor Dumbledore announced, "please step forward. There are four Houses, starting from your right, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. They are all equally good, and will help you succeed wherever you choose to go."

_**All houses are equal. But some houses are more equal than others. **_

_And yet Hufflepuff seems to be just as lively as the other three._

_**Well, the world needs more Hufflepuffs. **_

_Because nice people are easier to control than brave, smart, or sneaky people?_

_**Shut up and pay attention.**_

Tom really didn't care about any of the others, but he did make an effort to pay attention to the people he had distinguished early on as future important people. Flitwick, Filius sat there for about five minutes before the Hat finally decided on Ravenclaw. Lestrange, Edmond went to Slytherin after about half a second. McGonagall, Minerva, like Filius, also sat there for a rather long time before the Hat sent her to Gryffindor instead.

Well, at least he now had anchors in two Houses and a half-anchor in a third. If Pomona went to Hufflepuff, that would be very convenient indeed.

"Riddle, Tom!"

He could see Lestrange's nose suddenly turn upwards at the sound of his very Muggle name.

_**Well, screw you too, Lestrange. **_

_What now?_

_**We remind him of our dominance at the next closest opportunity, that's what, **_Jerry snarked. _**Same way as before. Oh, and "accidentally" drop that your middle name is Marvolo, too. **_**That **_**is obviously wizard.**_

Tom made sure to give Professor Dumbledore a shy smile, which the man happily returned, before gracefully sitting down on the stool and waiting for the Hat to be dropped. His face painted a picture of utmost composure. No fidgeting, no nervousness, no anticipation – just a stone, cold, marble coolness. Out of the corner of his eyes, right before the cloth slipped over his eyes, he could see an approving frown forming on the faces of some of the older, more politically trained Slytherin purebloods, and a scowl on Lestrange's face.

Hm. Problematic. But not completely unresolvable.

_**Pay attention! **_Jerry snapped.

_NOW, WHAT'S THIS?_

Great. _Three _voices in his head. This day just kept getting better and better.

_Please ignore him, Mr. Hat, _Tom replied. _He's a disassociative personality. Anyway, I love books and reading and learning, so will you put me into Ravenclaw?_

There was silence. And then:

_HAH! HAH! A HA HA HA HAH! _

_What's so funny?_

_YOU WANT TO GO INTO RAVENCLAW, BOY? NO, THERE IS ONLY ONE SPOT FOR YOU –_

_**Wait wait wait wait hold on Hat you can't do this to us! Not Slytherin, not Slytherin, anywhere but Slytherin!**_

_YOU WOULD EAT THE GRYFFINDORS ALIVE, BOY, LET ALONE RAVENCLAW OR HUFFLEPUFF, AND YOU REFUSE SLYTHERIN?_

_Come on, we're not _that _bad…yet._

_**Listen to him, Hat. We know what's best for ourselves.**_

_SOMETIMES I PUT CHILDREN IN A HOUSE WHERE THEY THINK THEY DO NOT BELONG FOR THEIR OWN GOOD. BUT IN THIS CASE YOU _KNOW_ YOU BELONG IN SLYTHERIN AND ARE TRYING TO PERSUADE ME OTHERWISE. THIS IS NO LONGER A QUESTION OF THE GOOD OF THE STUDENT; IT IS A QUESTION OF THE GOOD OF THE WORLD. _

_Hey, if you think I'm evil, then why don't you put me in a house that isn't evil? You know, good influences and all that. _

_THAT ONLY WORKS FOR CHILDREN WHO AREN'T ALREADY PLANNING TO TAKE OVER THE WORLD AT THE AGE OF ELEVEN. IN THIS CASE NOT EVEN A CHANGE OF HOUSE WOULD DETER YOU FROM YOUR AMBITIONS._

_I promise I won't be that rotten apple that spoils the barrel._

_**Come on, Hat! Put us in Ravenclaw! Pleeeeease? Please please please please please? You know how Slytherins are. We're SO Muggle! Not Slytherin! Not Slytherin! Not Slytherin!**_

_In all seriousness, though, I don't think Salazar Slytherin would be very appreciative of our enthusiasm for Muggle technology. It would be a very wise decision to put us in Ravenclaw, where our skills would be put to better use. Otberwise, the Slytherins would implode._

_**If you really cared about the greater good, Hat, you should listen to us. See, the Slytherins live in dungeons, and when dungeons implode, the rest of the structure will come crashing down on top of it. It's basic physics, really.**_

_NICE TRY. BUT CONTRARY TO CURRENT TRENDS, NOT ALL DARK LORDS ARE MUGGLE-HATING BIGOTS BENT ON GENOCIDE. I MAY NOT ALWAYS RECOGNIZE EVIL WHEN I SEE IT, BUT YOU, YOUNG MAN, DON'T JUST TIP THE SCALE: YOU _INVERT _IT._

_**Oh, so just because we're evil, we absolutely **_**have **_**to go to Slytherin? That's racist!**_

_HOW IS THAT RACIST?_

_**OI! You were going to put Harry Potter in Slytherin, too, but he kept going "Not Slytherin" so you changed your mind! Why can't you do the same for us? **_

_Who's Harry Potter?_

_**I'm going to sue for discrimination!**_

_HARRY POTTER HAD THE PROPERTIES OF BOTH SLYTHERIN AND GRYFFINDOR. EITHER WOULD HAVE SUITED HIM WELL. _YOU, _ON THE OTHER HAND…_

_**Wait, what? He wasn't born until 1980.**_

_TIME DOES NOT RUN IN THE SAME WAY FOR –_

_**How does that even work?**_

_What about us?_

_YOU ARE KIDDING ME, RIGHT? THERE IS NO HOUSE THAT WOULD FIT YOU _BUT _SLYTHERIN!_

_**What do you mean? We could totally go to Ravenclaw! There's a lot of cunning politicians in the world, but I bet you haven't met one that memorized all his textbooks before school started for a very long time, have you?**_

_YOU ONLY DID THAT FOR YOUR OWN BENEFIT, NOT WISDOM. _

_Why do ancient artifacts have to be so annoyingly perceptive? _

_**I'm not done sassing you, Hat! Are you putting us in Slytherin just 'cause we're evil? Why can't Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs or Gryffindors be Dark Lords, too? **_

_EVIL IMPLIES AMBITION AND CUNNING –_

_Evil can also mean ignorance and idiocy – but never mind that. It also takes a lot of intelligence, hard work, and guts to attempt such an arduous task. You could put us in any of the Houses. So what if I don't want to go to Slytherin? It's my choice, isn't it?_

_IT'S THE _REASON _YOU DON'T WANT TO GO TO SLYTHERIN THAT MAKES YOU THE PERFECT SLYTHERIN. _

_What does that have to do with anything?!_

_LIKE I SAID BEFORE – MOST PEOPLE PREFER, OR DON'T PREFER, A HOUSE, SIMPLY BECAUSE OF OPINION. THIS ISN'T A MATTER OF OPINION. IT'S FOR YOUR OWN MATERIAL ADVANTAGE. YOU REFUSE TO GO TO SLYTHERIN, NOT BECAUSE YOU BELIEVE RAVENCLAW WILL HELP YOU BECOME MORE INTELLIGENT, NOT BECAUSE YOU DISLIKE SLYTHERIN HOUSE, BUT BECAUSE _NOT_ BEING IN SLYTHERIN WILL _FURTHER_ YOUR OWN CUNNING._

_Isn't that the purpose of the Houses, though? To put a kid where he or she can succeed the best? That sounds like material advantage to me. Is that what the entire purpose of Slytherin House is? To put all the evil kids where we can keep track of them best?_

_**And besides, at this point most kids don't have "opinions"; they're just doing what their parents want. **_

_I think you're being very hypocritical, Hat. You won't listen to the well-reasoned arguments of a clearly logical person because of tradition, but you're willing to put a Hufflepuff in Gryffindor because their parents were and so brought them up to think that Gryffindor was best. _

_**Look, I don't understand why you think we're evil. I mean, apart from the "taking over the entire world" thing we're not doing anything **_**too **_**bad. Genocide certainly isn't on our list, and we're not stupid enough to rob the masses of the faceless poor to the point of desperation.**_

_Exactly. From your reasoning, Marie Antoinette would also be a Slytherin, and she was one of the stupidest people in the world._

_**So, Ravenclaw, if you please.**_

_ALL RIGHT, YOUNG MAN. YOU HAVE CONVINCED ME. _

_Yes!_

"SLYTHERIN!"

There was some polite clapping from the green table.

_Wait._

_**WHAT?**_

_BECAUSE NO STUDENT, AT THE AGE OF ELEVEN, HAS EVER SO ELOQUENTLY TRIED TO ARGUE FOR A DIFFERENT HOUSE. PERHAPS IF YOU HAD BEEN LESS PREPARED FOR WORLD DOMINATION, I MIGHT HAVE TAKEN YOUR CHOICE INTO ACCOUNT AS I DID FOR ALL THE OTHERS…_

_**THAT'S DISCRIMINATION!**_

_So if we didn't argue, we would have been put into Slytherin, but because we argued, you're putting us in Slytherin?_

_I DON'T UNDERSTAND HOW YOU WOULD EXPECT ANYTHING DIFFERENT. SURELY YOU MUST HAVE REALIZED THAT THIS WAS A LOST BATTLE FROM THE VERY START._

_**You know what, Hat?**_

_WHAT?_

_**You are the main source of this self-perpetuating civil war in the Wizarding World. Seriously. Why did the Founders ever think you were a good idea? All of the values of the four Houses – bravery, intelligence, ambition, and hard work – are important, and yet they've been reduced to petty rivalry, where if you possess one you cannot possess the others.**_

_You should have never existed._

_EXCUSE ME –_

_You're a worthless waste of space that never should have been born._

_**Useful for hiding stuff in, though. Like a fancy-ass sword.**_

_HOW DID YOU KNOW – YOU'RE THE _LEAST _GRYFFINDOR KID I'VE EVER MET –_

_**Wow. Way to be progressive. Must be nice, making a living stereotyping kids, huh?**_

_Ta-ta. _

…_Asshole._

_**Language, Tom. You're eleven.**_

_I also grew up on the streets of London. You don't think I wouldn't pick up a few things here or there?_

_**You did NOT grow up on the "streets."**_

_I had YOU, a young man who died before he had a spouse and young children to teach him how to curb his swearing._

_NOW SEE HERE –_

_That's what you get for not putting us in Ravenclaw like we wanted._

Professor Dumbledore lifted the Hat off of Tom's head and motioned for him to go sit down with the table that looked like it had been infested with leprechauns. It was like they didn't know how to remember dates, so they just wore green all year to avoid getting pinched on St. Patrick's Day.

Meanwhile, Tom was doing his best to do all the damage control that he could by giving both Minerva and Filius apologetic smiles, before giving Professor Dumbledore a jaunty wave and heading over to the Slytherin table to sit down. Maybe it _wasn't _the best idea to throw that pissy fit at the Sorting Hat. Oh, well. It was too late to back out now. From what Jerry said, the Hat was honor-bound/magically spelled to tell nobody about what it saw in the kids' minds, not even the teachers.

Tom certainly hoped Jerry was right, because they would be in a _lot _of trouble if he wasn't.

At least now all four of the "original" group were distributed evenly amongst the Houses, and it would be easier to access the wealth of the Slytherins.

Because there was just no way that some no-name Mudblood could be sorted into Slytherin House, right? Whoever this Tom Riddle was, he had to have something interesting about him. Half-bloods got Sorted into Slytherin House all the time, and as long as they were useful, their Muggle heritage could be overlooked. And from the rumors that were spreading about this rather resourceful young man who had taken out a boy two years older than him with the most rudimentary of spells, Tom Riddle was a very useful young man indeed.

Of course, they _didn't _know that he had more capability to be the one using _them _than the other way around.

"Welcome to Slytherin House," a tall, pale young man finally said. Blond hair. Yeah, that was probably Abraxas Malfoy.

"Thank you," Tom replied conservatively.

"I am Abraxas Malfoy, sixth-year Slytherin Prefect." Oh, Tom _so _called it. "If you need anything, feel free to find me. We Slytherins take care of our own."

He forgot to leave out "for a price" from that second sentence and "so you don't dishonor the House, because you'll regret it if you do" for the third, but that was okay because Tom knew to add them in. Any Slytherin worth his salt did.

"Of course. Thank you," Tom replied, just as guarded and politely as before.

"Our Head of House is Horace Slughorn. He teaches Potions here," Abraxas continued.

"A worthy subject," Tom smiled thinly. Said man was rotund to the point of spherical, and his moustache dripped over the sides of his face, giving him a rather walrus-like appearance. He didn't look much like the other Slytherins – they all seemed to fit in either the "slim noble heir who is here because of family political training", "ratty spoiled brat who _thinks _he belongs here but really isn't as smart as his parents should have hoped", "scrawny street rat who had to resort to other means for survival", or "thick, stupid lumps of flesh that were too lazy for Hufflepuff" prototypes.

Slughorn was fat, but in a jovial Santa Claus way, not like the dumb muscle types Tom saw at the table. He was also, from Tom's memories of the directory of power-holding families, one of the few true Purebloods left, but not a very significant family (in terms of money). Still, Horace Slughorn seemed to be a rather clever man, as, from Abraxas' continued descriptions of his infamous "Slug Club", he had cultivated plenty of connections without ever stepping into the limelight himself. There was no important person in the wizarding world whose pockets didn't have Horace Slughorn's hands in them _somehow_.

Now _there _was a Slytherin.

_**Quite unfortunately, he has little political clout. He uses his influence to get old students jobs and Christmas gifts. **_

"You and Edmond Lestrange seem to be getting along quite well," Malfoy commented loftily, interrupting his argument with Jerry. Tom shot a glance at Lestrange, who was glaring at him. Probably because Malfoy, current alpha dog/snake/whatever of Slytherin was showing _him_, some "insignificant" half-blood, more attention than him. Self-entitlement. Tom sniffed. Some things just never changed.

"Well, of course," Tom said sweetly, but also loudly enough for everyone else at the Slytherin table to hear. "We both agreed that it would be in the best interests of his reputation as the son of a noble Pureblood family to behave like a civilized human being." At this, Lestrange bristled, and returned sullenly to his meal.

"Oh?" Malfoy asked, arching an eyebrow gracefully. He seemed quite impressed, but in a rather amused way. Mainly because Tom was still young, and his attempt at manipulation was quite obvious – to Malfoy, anyway. Lestrange might one day catch up, as he matured. For now, that little statement was enough.

"I like him," another young man said, also tall, slim, and refined, but dark-haired. "Orion Black, fifth-year Slytherin Prefect, at your service." Tom repressed a snort – like any of these guys were at anyone's service other than their own. "Also, my brothers, Cygnus and Alphard, and my cousin Dorea."

"The Blacks are quite a prolific family," Abraxas Malfoy put in. "Why, I can name five other cousins of his already graduated from Hogwarts, and they are all named after constellations and stars. A noble destiny, to dream of unreachable things."

"Of course, Malfoy," Orion (and here Tom had to start referring to them by first name or he'd never sort them all out) sneered. "I must say, the Malfoy family is a very noble one, too, though not so great in numbers."

Malfoy gave a little smile. "That is not to say our influence does not rival that of the Blacks…we simply _concentrate _it a little more. We prefer quality to quantity."

"Putting all your eggs in one basket, hmmm?" Orion asked. "What happens when you end up with neither?"

"Or dividing up the land every generation; whatever works," Malfoy retorted.

Tom pretended that the entire little spat was going way over his head, but on the inside, he and Jerry were cheering. _**Yes, yes, yes! The two most powerful families in Britain and they're going at each other like dogs and cats! Fight, my beauties; fight! **_

_And meanwhile, just keep playing them against each other… _

…_**I can imagine it now – Confund Lestrange or whomever to tell Orion that he heard Abraxas say that the Blacks were just as bad as the Weasleys, and then watch the chaos unfold…**_

_And then insert myself in the middle, so they both try to use me against each other, and all the while, I'm stealing the spoils of war from the casualties? _Tom quoted drily.

_**You know me too well. **_

_But what are we going to do about Professor Dumbledore? We got Sorted into Slytherin. Is that bad…?_

_**Not TOO bad – at least, not now. Slytherin House doesn't have a terrible reputation **_**yet**_** – currently we're just the house of future politicians and whatnot. Anyway, Dumbledore and Slughorn are old friends, and Slughorn's not evil.**_

_Just…opportunistic?_

_**Look, next time you talk to Dumbledore alone, mention how much you love Hogwarts and how amazing it is, and then drop some bullshit story.**_

_Like…?_

_**The Hat couldn't decide between any of the Houses, and so it asked you what you wanted to do in your future, so it could determine what House would best help you.**_

_And what do I tell him? That I want to be an Evil Overlord or something? You do realize that the Hat, ironically, put us here to "protect" the Ravenclaws and therefore throw a wrench into our plans? Now it'll be harder to access the Gryffindors…_

_**Improvising, Tom. Improvising. Minerva won't forget that you defended her from Lestrange, and a great deal of influential families in Gryffindor are also members of the Slug Club, **_Jerry reassured him. _**And actually, being in Slytherin helps us because we're closer to the top 10% of the Wizarding World, if you know what I mean.**_

_But being evil…?_

_**Slytherin House's reputation isn't too bad yet. It was mostly the fact that they supported Hitler – well, Wizard Hitler – and then lost…but Wizard Hitler isn't around yet so for now they're all just opportunistic kids that will become successful in the Ministry 75% of the time.**_

_Wizard Hitler…? You know what? Never mind. You'll probably say "futuristic reference" again. But still. What do we tell Professor Dumbledore? You said that he was smarter than most. Will he distrust us because of this? Because if he's an enemy, that might be a problem…_

_**Don't sweat it. He's also an open-minded man who loves giving second chances. You already made a good first impression on him. Back to what I was saying before: your dream for the future was to end poverty and war.**_

_Isn't that a Hufflepuff or Gryffindor thing?_

_**Tom, how realistic is that goal?**_

_Not very. It's impossible. People will always be fighting._

_**Exactly.**_

_I don't see it._

_**What an ambitious goal, hmmm?**_

_It's a stupid goal._

_**A Hufflepuff would say, "I want to help others," not "I want to end ALL poverty and war." It just isn't done. Something as large-scale as that requires ambition and planning. You can alleviate poverty in a soup kitchen, but it takes those men in the ivory towers to make any real difference. **_

_Will Dumbledore really see that?_

_**Oh, trust me, he will. And he'll see it even better if you pretend you still don't understand why you're a Slytherin, and simply accepted its decision. People are good at rationalizing things that they expect to see.**_

_You really think we've fooled him? From the way you always go on about him, he sounds like a scarily competent thinker._

_**Well, if we haven't, then there's no point trying to change his mind. **_

_And then what do we do? Off him?_

_**Meh, he's old. We'll wait for him to die.**_

_And how long will that take?_

_**Well, if he's still not dead by the time we come back from our post-graduation magical world tour, we'll just persuade his heart to quit on him with a lot of fried chicken.**_

_You're horrible._

_**Says the kid who likes torturing bunnies.**_

_I've _never_ tortured a rabbit!_

_**If I gave you one, and no one was watching, would you?**_

…

_**That's what I thought. **_

_I hate you, Jerry._

* * *

A/N: What did you get on the Evil Overlord quiz, and which question was your favorite?

More extras to come (I'll probably add them in every 100 reviews). They might not necessarily be quizzes, although they can be. If there is anything you want me to write in more detail, more quiz topics, or random unrelated scenes you'd like to see, be sure to tell me.

Note - this won't affect the regular chapters, so don't worry. I do plan out and write my story ahead of time, and keeping to the plan is what keeps me from updating every two seconds. A completely unrelated segment, or something that I've already written, can be whipped up in about an hour.


	6. Security

A/N: There might be a politically incorrect joke down there somewhere. If you're easily offended, then piss off, because Tom Riddle has banned all easily butthurt people from the realm.

Just kidding. *3* Love ya, bitches!

* * *

_"180. I will not disregard any brilliant plans or methods of operation on the basis that someone I dislike or consider inferior came up with it."_

Only a few minutes into the start-of-term feast and Tom had already managed to do some nearly irreparable damage.

Needless to say, he was extremely proud of himself.

Abraxas Malfoy and Orion Black were both glaring at each other. Cygnus, Alphard, and Dorea Black alternated between glaring at Abraxas and sizing Tom up. Crabbe and Goyle, Malfoy's cronies, alternated between glaring at the Blacks and at their own dinners. Lestrange was glaring at Tom for stealing the attentions of both the Malfoys and the Blacks.

Tom, on the other hand, was smiling back disarmingly, which, to his utter amusement, _completely _threw him off.

Because Slytherins, apparently, were never allowed to smile, _ever_. Smirking and sneering, sure, but never smiling. It was as if being happy was a foreign concept to them. Which Tom found rather confusing, because even Evil Overlords had to remain upbeat _somehow_, didn't they? Being depressed all the time was definitely _not_ something you would want if you became immortal.

After that, Lestrange just looked hopelessly confused, as did the rest of the Slytherins, who had been too busy gossiping to notice that entire previous exchange, and Tom had to use all his willpower not to look up at everyone every time he took a drink, because he would certainly laugh, inhale some – whatever it was – pumpkin juice? – and choke.

Bad table manners in front of a bunch of snooty nobles made for bad PR among said nobles.

Luckily, Tom didn't inhale any of his drink that night, although he made sure Orion Black did. All it took was a slight invisible _push _with his magic so that the designated heir to the Black family tipped over his glass a little too far, performed simultaneously with a Sneezing Hex, and voila! His – whatever he was drinking – literally went spraying everywhere.

Well, everywhere all over Abraxas Malfoy.

And since no one could expect a first-year who never had a magical background to perform wandless magic perfectly on the first day at school (both of his hands, in clear view of everyone at the table, had been occupied with a fork and a knife at the time), Orion Black automatically assumed that Abraxas Malfoy had hexed him on purpose. Meanwhile, Abraxas Malfoy, whose pristine robes and hair had been completely ruined by this massive and unforgivable breach of manners, assumed that Orion Black had made _himself _sneeze to directly insult him (especially after the other, too mortified by his "own" clumsiness, refused to apologize). All of which only made the already present schism even greater than before.

One thing was for sure – by the time Tom graduated, the Blacks and the Malfoys would be feuding so hard that Tom Marvolo Riddle would seem like the least of their troubles. Key word, of course, being _seem_.

Naturally, _one _night of misdemeanors wasn't enough to _completely _sever the ties between the Malfoys and the Blacks. Sometime between the end of the feast and the trek between the Great Hall and the part of the dungeons where the Slytherin dormitories lay, the two of them had ended up cooling down enough to call a temporary truce. They hadn't _forgiven _each other – no real Slytherin ever forgave or forgot – but the first day of classes started tomorrow and neither of them wanted to have to deal with all of this back-and-forth political muck so early in the year.

Tom would have to fix that.

For now, though, Tom was simply lying in bed, laying out the battle plans for the next seven years with Jerry. After all, 90% of an Evil Overlord's time was spent plotting (yes, even in sleep) – and that was one of the few stereotypes that Jerry actually considered useful.

_All right, so we know that I can't do anything until I've mastered mind control. And I guess magical disguises, too. And I guess it wouldn't hurt to learn some core curriculum spells ahead of schedule, like that rather helpful space-expansion charm thing and teleportation._

_**Well, technically, you're not allowed to formally learn teleportation until you're seventeen. It's one of the annoying ways they keep tabs on people here. But nothing's preventing you from making illegal Portkeys or whatever.**_

_Portkeys?_

_**Objects that help you teleport. They're annoying, though, because they only work between two points, whereas Apparition takes you anywhere. Only it's really easy to prevent people from apparating, but not using Portkeys, for some reason.**_

_Or we COULD just create a method of teleportation that no one has ever heard of before. Like portals. Or smoke. Or shadows. Or anchors – like, as long as you've been to a certain spot before and marked it, you can go back there any time you want. A – what did you call it? Portkeys, but an entire network of them, and they always work no matter how far away from them you are. And since it's a completely new thing, no one will know how to stop it. And we need to figure out how to clone ourselves, too, just so we'll always have _some _sort of alibi._

_**Slow down. One thing at a time. Right now, mind control is the most important thing on the list. Master mind control, and you master everyone that matters without ever having to lift a finger. Mind control and disguises are all you need to conquer the world, really.**_

_And immortality, too. Cliché, but you can't become an Evil Overlord if you're vulnerable to death or whatever else your enemies wish upon you._

_**Immortality is harder than mind control. Wizards already have very advanced mind control properties. Currently all the methods that help you attain immortality aren't worth it.**_

_Like…?_

_**Well, you could steal the Philosopher's Stone, or make one yourself, and drink the Elixir of Immortality. But it doesn't **_**make **_**you immortal. It just extends your life span. You essentially become dependent on it. And it doesn't protect you from injury, which, in this occupation, will be a more likely death for you than old age. The only other method that I know of requires human sacrifices and gradually drives you insane. **_

_Insanity. Not a good trait. This is so annoying…and next I'll suppose you'll tell me of "worse things than death like being tortured forever or having your soul sucked out by a Dementor"? _

_**Well, everything we do needs to have a backdoor that can only be used by us.**_

_That really is the only way?_

_**I suppose there's a third method, but it's ridiculously complicated and isn't necessarily confirmed to give you immortality – plus, it's not permanent. You basically collect these three things, but you're only "immortal" as long as you have those three things.**_

…_Meaning, if anyone ever takes one of those things from you, you're no longer immortal?_

_**Exactly.**_

_This is such a pain in the arse._

_**Yes. Yes, it is.**_

_Maybe I'll just add "dissolving into smoke" to our to-do list. That way, if we ever get caught by anyone, we can just explode in their faces. And I guess we should have at least six other backup plans, too, in case those pesky La Resistance fighters figure out some ingenious way to stop the smoke. _

_**Forget that right now. First, you need to go to sleep. Then, get your class schedule tomorrow so you know when all your free periods are and when the best time is for sneaking away without getting caught. **_

_You make it sound so easy._

_**When you break a big problem into little steps, it actually is. Right now, all we need is practice. **_

_Ugh. It's mind control. That's the hard part. It's the _one _thing that I haven't gotten control of! And of course I can't use living test subjects until I master it because I'll get caught, but I can't master it until I have test subjects. _

_**Not a problem. I know a way. Go to sleep.**_

_What about the immortality?_

_**We'll research that, too, alongside the mind control. But don't be surprised if it takes a lot longer to figure something out.**_

_Which is why we'll start now._

_**Exactly.**_

_Why don't we just focus all on the immortality and master the mind control later?_

_**You want to draw in your base while they're still young and stupid. And **_**you **_**are also – well, not stupid, but inexperienced. You'll make mistakes. Or we might find ourselves in an unplanned situation and not be able to improvise in time. It's imperative that you learn how to wipe someone's memories properly. You can't get caught this early in the game.**_

_Why can't we just kill everyone and be done for it?_

_**Because, you idiot, people will fight back.**_

_But ruling over a docile population is so boring!_

_**Well, if you're mind-controlling people, and want to spice things up, just remove the mind-control from one person and watch the chaos if you're that desperate!**_

_Oh, shut up, Jerry._

_**Right back at you, Tom.**_

Despite their ever-constant bickering, though, Tom and Jerry always could rely on one thing – they made the perfect team against an unfriendly third party. When they were alone, they _had _to take out their daily hidden frustrations on _someone _– Tom because he had to actively hide it, and Jerry because he couldn't talk to anyone else anyway even if he wanted to – leading to the origin of what Jerry liked to describe as their "verbally violent" cat-and-mouse style word battles. But otherwise, they were an inseparable team.

Literally.

The next morning, Jerry woke Tom up early as he always did (apparently the fact that he didn't have a physical body meant that his brain didn't have to recharge its chemicals, which meant that Jerry basically just didn't sleep). Jerry, of course, couldn't control Tom's body, but he _could _be very loud and annoying when he wanted to be. Tom was only lucky that Jerry tried his best to save that for when he was actually awake – while Tom slept, Jerry usually settled into a quiet corner to ponder life and do whatever he didn't want to verbally share with Tom.

And when he got bored of no longer having any human interaction, that was when he started jabbering away. Regardless of when the alarm was actually set.

Tom sometimes thought that Jerry did it on purpose, because Jerry's senses were just as linked to Tom's, and he _knew _Jerry could hear alarms just as well as Tom could.

But Tom was used to sleeping a little less than normal, anyways, and his body had adjusted accordingly, so he didn't fault Jerry _too _much for adding a few hours to his day. One of the advantages to being the earliest riser when you live with roomates is the fact that you get private bathroom privileges, as well as the satisfaction of smirking down at inferior beings. It's surprisingly condescending, to roll out of bed half-asleep with grime in your eyes, only to see someone else completely alert, dressed, and ready to go – it implies that you're lazier and less aware of your surroundings.

Also, since they were Evil Overlords, it was advisable to never fall asleep in a room where others were awake.

Just another way of asserting dominance.

There was a definite night curfew, but there wasn't any real limit to how early anyone could wake up. Before sunrise was rather sketchy, but seeing as many teachers and other adults woke up at around five, also (though not today; it was the first day back), no one should fault the little first-year for not knowing the rules.

Five A.M. wasn't _that _unreasonable. A bit on the extreme side, perhaps, but not unreasonable.

Tom _did _want to get back before too many other people woke up, though. Breakfast wasn't served until 8:00, since classes on the first day started at 9:00, so most people wouldn't wake up until around 7:00, give or take a quarter of an hour. Leaving Tom that much time to do all his exploring of the castle.

_Should I make myself invisible? Or will that be suspicious?_

_**Hmmm…tough call. The paintings might blab if they see something wrong…but on the other hand, if you don't get caught…**_

_I can sort of make myself invisible._

_**Go back into the bathroom and we'll see. We **_**know **_**we're there, so if we can't find ourselves, then people who aren't looking shouldn't be able to, either, as long as we don't bump into anything.**_

_All right._

It took about another hour of practice before Tom could _will _himself into very good camouflage, but it still wasn't that great. Invisibility, unfortunately, was one of those annoying skills that were ridiculously harder than making stuff float and grow and change into something else.

_**Whatever. It's not like you'll get into trouble. Just say that you're going exploring so that you won't get lost before classes start. **_

…_We don't even have our schedules yet, though._

_**Potions is always in the dungeons, Astronomy is always in the Astronomy tower, Herbology is always out by the greenhouses, and the paintings will tell you where the Transfiguration, Charms, History, and Defense classrooms are.**_

_Do they _really _make everyone take those same seven classes? I mean, I get the six on magic, but I read through the Astronomy curriculum. There's absolutely no application that you can't get in the Muggle world, except for naming your kids like the Purebloods do._

_**Yeah, well, it's not a bit of a stretch for a first-year to deduce what all his classes are from reading his book list, right?**_

So Tom left the Slytherin common room and started going on a tour of the castle. Most of the paintings were still asleep at this point, which sort of rendered their excuse of asking the paintings about where the classrooms were void, but that didn't bother Jerry. He just kept telling Tom to keep taking the staircases upwards, and walk with paranoia turned up to the max because, apparently, there were trick steps that moved randomly.

Disregarding the fact that this was a school full of kids, and a fall from that height could easily break someone's neck.

Tom eventually managed to get to the seventh floor without much trouble. To which he turned to Jerry and asked, _Okay…so why are we here? Unless you want to get a nice view of the grounds…_

_**Shh. Just turn a few corners until you find the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy.**_

_Why?_

_**Just do it. Oh, you'll like this. It's so – it's so **_**stupid **_**like everything else here, but in a cool way. Really. It's just like **_**magic**_**.**_

_If you insist…_

Eventually Tom managed to find said tapestry of the crazy old man from the illustration in A History of Magic and paused. _Found it. Now what? Oh, let me guess – secret door hidden behind the tapestry?_

_**Yes, actually, but you're staring at the wrong side of the hallway.**_

_Wait, what? That's a blank wall. There's nothing there…oh, wait. Is there some invisible door?_

_**Yeah. Now walk back and forth between this patch of blank wall three times thinking, well, anything. More specifically, something that you need.**_

_Well, I need to attain immortality in a way that DOESN'T drive me crazy and figure out a way to mind-control people, for starters._

_**Go ahead. Try it.**_

Tom frowned, but did as he was told, and wasn't even surprised anymore to see a door just randomly appear.

_And let me guess…it's there?_

_**Well, not quite, because that would be too easy, but it would still help.**_

So Tom entered the room, only to find books stacked all the way up to the ceiling, on everything currently known about immortality, mind control, and so on. And that was when Tom couldn't help but say out loud,

"Holy shit."

_**Language.**_

_Like YOU'RE one to talk._

_**You're eleven. I'm...well, I don't quite remember how old I am, but I'm over eighteen.**_

_You were a college student, right?_

**_...Yeah. Yes. I did go to college._**

_I thought I'm supposed to be older than you._

_***Magic!***_

The library the weird room had come up with was smaller than the entire Hogwarts library, of course, but not _that _much smaller. And, given that it was only on a few select topics, Tom was pretty sure that some of these books weren't actually available for public reference.

It was overwhelming, to say the least. He felt like he could stay here forever. He just wanted to get lost in this place and never leave again. No doubt he'd learn more here, alone, than sitting in class. Depressingly enough, the world wasn't conquered from the inside of a library and there were more important things to life than just furthering one's own intelligence. As Slytherin House had taught him on the very first night, connections were extremely important, too – and that required Tom to regularly step out into the daylight.

Which was annoying, since Tom hated people, but he could deal with that. As long as he didn't have to form _real _bonds with them, he could suffer through creating some fake ones.

_What is this? A magical reference library?_

_**It's the Room of Requirement. It gives you anything you need, within limits.**_

_And all I have to do is walk back and forth between this patch of wall thinking about what I want?_

_**Yep. Of course, it won't give you anything that's restricted use, like food, or hasn't been invented yet, but it will still do its best.**_

_Wow. That's…_

_**Yeah. I know.**_

_This is actually pretty amazing._

_**Yeah, well, snap out of it, Tom. I know these reference books all seem cool, but they won't help us much. This is just so you know that it's there. Next time we come, just ask for some place where we can practice magic in private, so no one else can walk in on us.**_

_Ah. I see._

_**Now I think it's about time we started heading back. Some of the paintings should be awake by now, so we can still use the excuse about not wanting to get lost on the first day.**_

_Sheesh. You'd think that after a thousand years, they'd think to make a map of this bloody place._

…

…

_Jerry?_

_**Oh. My. God. I am so stupid.**_

_What?_

**_THE MAP!_**

What _map? Oh, let me guess_…_Futuristic reference?_

_**Well, yeah. But one we can actually use. A map that shows everyone in Hogwarts and where they are…**_

_Where are we going to get that?_

_**We're going to **_**make **_**it.**_

_What? That sounds awfully complicated._

_**Four teenaged Gryffindor pranksters just a few years older than you were figured it out. **_

_WHAT?_

_**Yeah, I know. Stupid. But hey – the only hard part is actually drawing out the damn thing. Spelling it to latch onto everyone's magical signatures isn't a problem. Something on names given at birth being linked to souls and whatnot.**_

_That sounds a bit farfetched._

_**Indeed. But oh so useful.**_

_And I suppose we'll be making time for this somehow?_

_**It's very useful for sneaking around without getting caught.**_

_I guess you're right…_

_**Okay, so number one priority is learning invisibility and getting the map done. Then we'll be able to sneak around for our personal projects without getting caught.**_

_And after that is all the immortality and mind control?_

_**Well, of course.**_

_Great. Now can we leave now? We have to get back soon._

_**Yes, yes, go ahead.**_

If anyone had noticed that Tom was gone that morning, no one mentioned it, and neither was any other indication that the Sorting Hat had blabbed – Headmaster Dippet, Professor Dumbledore, Professor Slughorn, and whoever else, all continued to regard him normally – or as normally as they could treat someone of his calibre. It was quickly clear that he was the class genius, along with Minerva.

Tom always made sure he was never any more than five points ahead of her, and occasionally allowed himself to dip below her in terms of grades, just to keep things realistic.

Evil Overlords aren't accountable to anyone, least of all report cards.

It wasn't as if Tom had any over-enthusiastic parents to push him, anyway.

Really, being in Slytherin wasn't as bad as he and Jerry had initially expected it to be, but he supposed that was because they hadn't experienced any Dark Wars or whatever for a very long time, so the mania had been dead for a while. Likewise, it seemed that so far, they were still on Professor Dumbledore's good side.

There was _one _thing he was particularly proud of, however, and that was his fame for having the _neatest _work in Hogwarts. This may or may not have been due to the fact that Tom had quickly given up the highly inefficient quills and parchment for Muggle pens, pencils, and standard printer paper so that he could finish his homework more quickly and spend his time doing more fruitful things, like expanding his follower base and practicing Confundus charms.

Professor Slughorn, bless his soul, had noticed the popularity of his new invention, and immediately set him up with the owner of Flourish and Blotts', and soon Tom's quills were _everywhere_.

And best of all, no one could accuse him of being some sort of greedy businessman for reselling cheap biros for several Galleons apiece because, well, _he _wasn't the one setting the prices. He had been handing them out to the people who asked for free before. (Well, not exactly _free_, because those who received gifts from Tom Riddle paid for them in loyalty and friendship, and, unfortunately, unknown to them, Tom Riddle wasn't the type of kid you would want to be a loyal friend to, if you valued your life.) That Flourish and Blotts was tacking on a price so that the Ministry of Magic could order the pens in bulk for their employees, and insisted on giving him a percentage of the profits, was hardly _his _fault, right?

He was just an _innocent, eleven-year-old orphan _who _happened to get lucky_ enough to go from completely penniless to having a modest Gringotts account with some spending money for books, tuition, and the like.

It was honestly nice having Professor Slughorn for a Head of House, and it wasn't just because Professor Slughorn was _Slytherin's _Head of House (since being in Slytherin automatically granted you certain privileges, like political immunity from Peeves, thanks to the Bloody Baron being their representative ghost – not that Tom needed any help in scaring the poltergeist off).

Professor Slughorn was just the _perfect _teacher – not because of what he taught, but because of just exactly what you could get away with under his watch. It wasn't that he was _stupid _– he definitely knew more than the average wizard by a good amount – and he wasn't naïve, either – but he was…Tom didn't know how to describe him, exactly. Professor Slughorn just liked to turn a blind eye to things. Which made him perfect for Slytherin House, because that meant that the more opportunistic students in Hogwarts were allowed to get away with far more things than the rest of their more "honest" peers.

That was because the Purebloods didn't _know _that they were Muggle items (and now that they were regular wizard items, refused to believe that the Muggles could have come up with something so ingenious first) and simply assumed that Tom was smart enough to invent self-inking, non-runny, erasable pens on his own. Hence the reason why they were using them without any qualms, too.

Professor Dumbledore seemed to find it more amusing than anything, and happily thanked Tom for reducing the number of blotches and smudges by 100% on everything he had to grade. After all, Professor Slughorn was a friend he trusted to be _good_, even if he didn't completely approve of the man's rather elitist habit of collecting human trophies, and helping a young student make his way off the charity list was a long leap from helping a future Dark Lord take power.

Or so he thought, anyway.

Yes, he and Professor Dumbledore were quickly becoming the best of friends. Mainly because Minerva always insisted on staying behind after every single damn class to ask questions about Transfiguration, and Tom had to stay with her because they were supposed to be friends, and also because he was still trying to figure out that stupid random rule about food, to no avail.

_I SWEAR to GOD, if one day in the future, we die of STARVATION, I will –_

_**Say…if you could increase the amount of food you have…**_

_What?_

_**Is autocannibalism an attractive idea to you? **_

_That's disgusting._

_**I hear humans taste like chicken.**_

_EVERYTHING tastes like chicken, according to you._

_**Nuh-uh. I told you that roast crickets taste like peanuts.**_

_Mmm-hmmm._

**_I'm serious! You should try it sometime._**

_Okay, Jerry. Whatever you say._


	7. Acceptance

WARNING: You're reading about a mentally deranged eleven-year-old boy and his invisible friend trying to take over the world. Of course their views are going to be severely disjointed from the norm.

* * *

**BONUS #2**

_The Life of Jerry, Part 1_

You may call me Jerry. I had a name once. I had a life, too.

If you must know, that dumb story about getting hit by a truck?

I made it up. None of it's true.

Yeah, I'm a total liar. So sue me. "I got hit by a truck" is a much simpler explanation than the real thing. Often, people lie because the truth is so complicated that they're afraid people will think it's a lie. Anyway, I'm telling you the truth now, aren't I?

Look - I hate telling this story, because it's stupid, but...fine. I actually died in a fire. I have occasional bouts of insomnia – well, had – and that night I had taken sleeping pills. Guess which night that one idiot from the floor below chose to forget to put out his cigarette like I knew he would?

I know, right? Stupid. I should have moved out, but I just kept putting it off. But, you know what they say. Hindsight is 20/20. Not that getting hit by a truck is any better, I suppose, but it was the first thing I could come up with that was reasonably believable. Besides, I'd rather get run over in broad daylight than just suffocate in my sleep. It's much faster.

What? "Are sleeping pills really _that _strong?" Okay, fine! You got me! My sleeping pills were...oh, all right! Fine! They're not actually sleeping pills! I was a drug addict, okay? No, I'm not going to tell you what _type _of drugs they were. But the part about me being too high to react to a freaking fire is true.

Yeah, drugs are a bad idea, kids. And dying isn't so fun, either. Trust me. I've been there.

* * *

_"170. I will be an equal-opportunity despot and make sure that terror and oppression is distributed fairly, not just against one particular group that will form the core of a rebellion."_

In the end, though, Tom couldn't really complain, because it had been a perfect gateway for Jerry's idea of the whole "I want world peace" sob story. (Wanting world peace wasn't something you randomly bragged about in regular conversation – these sorts of things had to have the right hooks to make it look like it came out of the blue. Certain things seem much more powerful being mentioned "by accident".)

"I'm glad to see my students so excited about learning," Professor Dumbledore would always tell them, his eyes twinkling.

"This is all just so exciting," Minerva gushed, and Tom noticed that she was subconsciously trying to make her accent less heavy in response to Lestrange's jibe on their first day. "Oh, and is that a phoenix, Professor Dumbledore?"

"Yes. This is Fawkes, my familiar. He normally stays in my office, but I thought I'd let him out today."

"He's so beautiful…"

Tom made sure to shut off his ears when he noticed the phoenix opening its mouth.

_What happens if it starts singing, and we don't see it in time?_

_**I don't know.**_

_I'm actually curious. What does that thing sound like?_

_**You want to risk it while Dumbledore's here?**_

_I could blame it on my orphan upbringing._

_**But you're too goody two-shoes…it'll shake your credibility…**_

_But I'm curious, dammit._

_**You're insufferable.**_

_And you aren't?_

_**True.**_

"Tom? Tom?"

"What? Oh, sorry. I got lost for a moment," Tom said sheepishly, his hearing returned to him.

"Wasn't that such a wonderful song, Tom?" Minerva asked.

"Yes. It was brilliant."

_Damn, I missed it!_

_**Well, if you're really curious to see how you'll be affected, go and talk to Fawkes when Professor Dumbledore isn't looking. You have the map for a reason.**_

_Can Fawkes blab on us?_

_**I don't know. Ask.**_

"I love everything about this place!..." Minerva was still saying.

"I see. And you, Tom? Hogwarts is suiting you well, I hope? Certainly it is much different from the schooling you have received thus far."

"I'm adjusting quite well; thank you for asking, Professor. Say, I was wondering, can you speak Phoenix? Or are there any ways of communicating with your familiar?"

"Not an informational bond, but an emotional bond. Phoenixes in particular can tell what their companions' feelings are, and know exactly what to do to help them in a bad situation. But if I left the classroom, for example, then he wouldn't be able to tell me who wasn't doing their work."

"Well, that's just silly that they're not working!" Minerva sniffed. "Why are they even at school, then?"

"Some people just don't see the purpose," Tom shrugged. "But that's quite all right. Maybe they don't work very well in classroom settings. Your class is very hands-on, though, so that isn't a problem for us."

"In terms of not completing your assignments, you two are the least concerning out of all my students," Professor Dumbledore chuckled.

_**Yes! Crisis averted!**_

_I still wanted to see how I'd hold up against phoenix song, though. Hmmm…_

Eventually the conversations devolved into things like future careers, mostly at Minerva's steering. That girl was just crazy about everything. She was already planning for her final exams, and the midterms hadn't even come yet!

_**And **_**we're **_**planning decades ahead for when we finally conquer the world. But that's hardly worth mentioning, right?**_

_But we're not stressing out about it! At this rate she'll be cramming for her N.E.W.T.s before third year! Why does she even think that's necessary? It's _school_. It caters to the _middle _of the bell curve. We're so many standard deviations above the mean it hardly even matters –_

_**Glad to know we learned statistics from the same sources.**_

_Oh, shut it, Jerry._

_**You seem rather overly concerned about Minerva's business.**_

_What has that got to do with anything?_

Minerva's dream for the future was easy – she wanted to be a teacher from the very start. And Gryffindor House was fine, thank you. A little boisterous for her tastes – Tom noticed that unlike all the other Gryffindors, Minerva actually had a very strict, conservative, self-disciplined approach to public behavior – but nice.

That wasn't a problem – in fact, it only made Tom's standout behavior from Slytherin House less unusual.

He had always _belonged _with the Slytherins, and was as Slytherin as Minerva was Gryffindor (in those seriously stereotypical ways in which House names became adjectives, as if that was all that encompassed a person). And yet he wasn't like the other Slytherins. Which seemed to be a contradiction – but really just showed Tom how narrow-minded the House system had made people. Really, qualities like "brave" or "ambitious" or "smart" or "loyal" could be taken so many different ways that the methods in which one could embody those qualities were endless. And yet the House system had reduced them all to stereotypes.

Smart=bookworm. Brave=idiot. Ambitious=evil. Loyal=worthless.

Could not the most vicious of soldiers, who ripped out their enemies' bowels on the battlefield without second thought, also be loyal – to their nation, to their Queen or King or Czar or whatever President was across the sea now? Apparently, not with those marshmallows. Could the quietest "no" in the world also be in Gryffindor? Nope, because all of them were loud and rude. Did "smart" have to mean buried in books all day? Discoveries weren't made just by studying from predetermined materials. And who said all ambitions involved climbing the staircase to power in the political stage? (While Tom certainly meant to step on people on his way to the top, he didn't care so much about those silly Purebloods' subtle insults over wine and caviar.)

The trouble was, those people _were _in those Houses. They were just never noticed underneath the banner, and so they ended up becoming one with the rest of the masses.

Until Tom came along and turned Slytherin House upside-down. Because, unlike the others, he _knew _he was different and went out of his way to make sure people knew it. Subtly, of course.

In any event, with Minerva out of the way, Professor Dumbledore had asked him next how he liked Hogwarts and his new House so far, what he wanted to do with himself, yadda yadda yadda.

"My experience with the Sorting Hat was really interesting. He – she – it – was very pleasant company, actually. I almost didn't want to get off the stool," Tom lied through his teeth.

Minerva smiled. "I know. I sat on there for so long; the Hat just kept thinking and thinking. I wonder how the Founders made somethin' like that. It must be very powerful magic!"

"Hogwarts is full of secrets," Professor Dumbledore said sagely. "I should consider myself lucky if I knew even half of them."

"Me, too."

"Aye, it truly is a majestic place," Minerva grinned. "Sometimes I wish I could change houses when I liked, just so I might get to visit all of Hogwarts. I almost got put into Ravenclaw with Filius, but at the last moment I decided that I needed to be brave more than I needed to study. Not that studying isn't very important, too."

She looked at Tom expectantly, like she wanted him to share his own conversation with the Hat, too. Which Tom did. Not that he'd tell the truth, of course.

"Funny story, actually – the Sorting Hat had a bunch of trouble with me, too."

"Oh, yes, I noticed you sat under there for a pretty long time."

"We also started out in Ravenclaw, but started discussing all of the Houses, and ended up being even less sure of where I was supposed to go than at the start."

"Now that is ironic," Professor Dumbledore sipped his tea. "But quite amusing. Do go on, Tom. How did you finally decide?"

And here came the magical insert. "Well, finally, the Sorting Hat decided to ask me what I thought defined a great man."

"And how did you answer?" Professor Dumbledore asked.

Tom shrank down shyly and gave Professor Dumbledore his most innocent, cheerful, hopeful, naïve smile. "It took me a while to arrive at the answer, but I finally thought I had the right one. 'A good man is defined by his kindness, but a _great _man is defined by his _dreams_.'"

There was a silent pause in the room.

God, there was so much revolting sweetness in that one action Tom could have sworn he was getting diabetes. Either that, or he had just sprouted a set of ovaries.

But the show had to continue, so, following this statement, Tom willed his cheeks to color slightly (being able to cry and blush on command were the two most useful skills in the average poor little orphan's toolbox since forever) and looked down even further, all the while pressing the tips of his index fingers together.

Finally, Professor Dumbledore broke out into a genuine smile and lifted his teacup.

"A very profound statement, for someone so young."

_**Bleeeeeeeeeeeeeecccccccchhhhhhhhhh…**_

"I guess the Hat just interpreted my statement to mean ambition, so…" here Tom inserted a nervous chuckle, "Slytherin it was!"

_SHUT UUUUUUUUUUUUUUPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP..._

"Well, I'm glad that you're in Slytherin. That's each of us in each of the Houses!" Minerva put in cheerfully. "I really admire the Four Founders. I hope we can be like them someday."

"Or better!" Tom included, making sure to stay in character.

It was pretty hilarious, how Dumbledore had had the whole "concerned teacher" display amped up to eleven. Even more so, when Tom had responded so perfectly naively ("I wasn't sure at first, but I seriously think that my world peace idea will catch on greatly with the Slytherins. They're so receptive and there's quite a bit of heirs to influential families who said they'd support me when the time came!") that he had ended up walking away from that meeting with advice on the true nature of the nasty politics that came with the snakes.

"Be careful, Tom. You'll understand soon that not everyone means what they say before you. And you must be careful not to lose sight of your surroundings when chasing said dream."

**_If only that _was _our dream. Then his "advice" might have some merit._**

_I hate him. Why do long-bearded wizards always have to be so perceptive? It makes my job so inconvenient._

"Ending all conflict is a big dream, don't you think, Tom?" Professor Dumbledore asked.

"Oh, not_ all _conflict," Tom said quickly. "People _have _to argue to maintain healthy relationships. It just means that we can still have diversity in opinion. If there was no conflict, we'd all just be mindless minions, and that's not good. I just want to spread more _awareness _around the world so that people can be more accepting of others' ideas. That way, people will sit down and talk things over like mature adults instead of picking up wands and guns every time there's a disagreement."

"I hope you will remember that, when you are actually starting this journey," Professor Dumbledore said, suddenly tired.

"If men from a century ago can start bloodless revolutions at podiums and ballot boxes, then so can I," Tom declared.

"I will hold you to that."

"I think that it's a very noble goal," Minerva smiled at him, her cheeks slightly red.

_**Oh, god, it's already starting. Damn it! That's not fair! You're only eleven!**_

_What's not fair?_

But Jerry refused to answer, and retreated to a corner of Tom's mind to sulk.

So Tom just shrugged and continued with the conversation, parroting some of Jerry's complaints from years past. "Well, _someone _has got to start raising awareness. And why can't it be me? The world's getting better, but there's lots of problems that still need to be addressed. Did you know that in the Muggle world, blacks are _still _being discriminated against, hundreds of years after slavery was finally made illegal? And even though women legally have a political say, not very many of them hold office or have opportunities for social mobility, either." (Here Minerva became especially starry-eyed.) "…and I hear that hate crimes are occurring in Germany right now against all sorts of groups, like Jews and Gypsies and Catholics and political dissidents and other sorts just for being _different…_" (Here Professor Dumbledore suddenly became even more interested, too) "…and even the Wizarding World has its problems. A very small percentage of the Wizarding World – the old Pureblood families – hold the majority of wealth and power, and they exclude the newcomers, like the Muggleborns, from all of that because of their prejudice…"

_**You are so full of hot air that the Hindenburg would be jealous.**_

_Oh, shut up, Jerry._

Fawkes did not leave Professor Dumbledore's office again, however, and Tom didn't want to risk breaking into a teacher's private quarters, so he simply had to deal with not knowing what a phoenix song sounded like. It was frustrating, but at least he had time to do other things.

Endearing himself to the general public, for example, was so easy that it wasn't even funny. It wasn't long before Tom became that one kid who was just completely above reproach, from both his teachers and his peers. Except for that bullied bully from the train, there wasn't anyone who had anything to say against Tom's _character_. He wasn't the type of "popular kid" who climbed to the top by sticking everyone else in the bottom of the caste system. He was just _sort of there_, and everyone who knew him could say that he was a nice and smart person.

Of course, no one ever noticed that he _always _had the uncanny knack to be there _right _when he was needed.

Really, it was like he could appear out of nowhere, sometimes.

Ah, invisibility. How he loved it.

Learning Disillusionment and other invisibility-related charms, courtesy of the Room of Requirement, had been surprisingly not as hard as Tom had initially expected. Neither were magical disguises, once Tom figured out how to hold the facial transfiguration for an extended period of time. Both were simple enough skills that Tom had been able to master within about a day once he had found the proper library books. (As innovative as Jerry was, he had very little actual information about the nature of magic itself – leading Tom to believe that he had been a Muggle of some sort with a magical relative.)

It turned out that all that Tom really needed was not extra power or control, but attention to detail, and that had been fixed easily enough. Tom had always been an observant child, for the sake of survival; he simply hadn't known what he had to look for in the first place. Most of the books on magic were horribly outdated (there was a reason why textbooks in normal schools are updated at least once every decade – not once every century), but the principles remained the same. Sure, Tom could throw out the parts about incantations, because they didn't help him at all, but the visualization processes associated with the incantations worked wonders.

So now Tom could sneak around properly without too much trouble. Tom wasn't sure if it was enough to fool Professor Dumbledore – after all, just because they were camoflagued, and had learned to hide giveaways like footsteps and shadows, didn't meant that they had their presences hidden completely. Fooling the paintings and his fellow students were the important thing – Tom could do that easily. The teachers would be more difficult to trick, but they couldn't be around all the time.

Within Slytherin House, however, it was quickly clear that Tom was somewhat of an anomaly.

First, was the fact that he was completely willing to cross House lines. He regularly talked to the Gryffindors, and studied with the Ravenclaws, and helped out the Hufflepuffs. Sometimes he even volunteered himself to sit next to struggling students without being prompted.

One of the oddest things of all about Tom Riddle was that, unlike the rest of his House, he was notorious for being humble and willing to help others without ever asking for something in return – most other Slytherins never extended any hand of assistance unless the person asking was from another major Pureblood family who could give them something in return, and even then it was a hit-or-miss on whether or not they'd insult you and talk down at you for not knowing, first.

As a result, Tom Riddle became the most famous of the Slytherins despite being the biggest "nobody" out of all of them, to his and Jerry's great pleasure.

"Need help?"

"Uh, yes?"

"Hmmm…I think I see what your problem is. Try doing this instead."

"Wow! It's working! Sort of. Thanks, Riddle."

"No problem. I had a lot of trouble with that part myself. This stuff is really advanced, you know."

"Really?"

"Well, Hogwarts is the best magical school in the world for a reason, you know. Our curriculum is much more fast-paced than other schools'."

"Whoa."

"So don't feel bad. You might be having a little bit of trouble, but that's totally normal. We're way ahead of the kids in – India, for example."

Which was a complete lie, because while Muggle India had been colonized by the British for over a century, Magical India had remained completely independent for a reason. But seeing as Magical Britain was so xenophobic anyway (and Tom had looked for hours and found not a single book on the state of international education – just a few trade agreements and Quidditch references here and there) he doubted that anyone would even have the sense to question that statement.

Even Minerva and Filius, the two most intelligent students in Hogwarts after him (by a long shot – though he never let them know it), and Pomona, who was not quite as intelligent but worked hard to keep up all the same, liked to delude themselves into thinking that Hogwarts was the greatest school in the world. Never mind that there were probably establishments in East Asia, the Middle East, India, and Africa that were much older. Hogwarts was founded in the 900s A.D., maybe. The Caliphates of the Middle East, the Sub-Saharan kingdoms, the East Asian dynasties, and the Meso- and South American empires had been around for hundreds of years before that. And all of them had had a much more magic-friendly culture than the Europeans, who seemed to like to go around burning, hanging, and drowning anything that wasn't nice and Christian.

After all, Europe hadn't come up with the concept of actual schools until a very, very long time after the rest of the modern world. Plenty of people seemed to forget that following the collapse of the Roman Empire, Europe was the trashiest continent on Earth. No doubt the prospering Muslim empires of that time would have figured out how to set up universities before the backwards, oppressive medieval Europeans did.

But of course no one wanted to hear about that, least of all the prideful and traditionalist Slytherin House.

So Tom kept his mouth shut and only said things that people wanted to hear.

Because if he _actually _spoke his mind, he'd probably be tossed out of the window of the Astronomy Tower.

Jerry was a very, very, very bad influence. In the best way possible.

Ironically enough, there wasn't a single House in Hogwarts that did not like Tom Riddle in some way, shape, or form – except Slytherin House. But they didn't really like anybody. They _did_ respect him for his talent and growing influence – even more so because Professor Slughorn, their Head of House, made sure to point it out _every single damn time _Tom did something right (and according to the Law of the Transitive Chain of Respect, since they respected Slughorn, and Slughorn respected Tom, they, too gave Tom a bit of respect).

Yes, _respect _was a big fat deal in Slytherin House, because god forbid they ever had friends.

But gaining ground in Slytherin – his own house – was a lot more difficult than in any other house. He had meshed with the Ravenclaws right away, and caught on with all of the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs with the same ease (except for that one kid he had humiliated on the train, but he didn't count). Slytherin, on the other hand…maybe it was a good thing after all that the Hat had put him in this house than in Ravenclaw. It would have been even more ridiculously difficult to get through to the Slytherins if he had been from an outside House instead of right within the heart of things.

Ironically, in its attempt at preventing Tom from gaining too much ground, it had done the exact opposite and dumped him right in the lap of power.

Perhaps the Hat had planned for him to run into trouble among his own housemates, all the while alienating the other 75% of Hogwarts. The first ended up being only partially true, and the second not at all.

It was all because of his family, or lack thereof, really – which, funnily enough, was apparently the most important thing inside Slytherin House despite its core emphasis on ambition, cunning, and individuality. He definitely had _some _sort of magical heritage, given his ridiculous middle name, but no one knew what it was. The rest of the half-bloods, at least, could name their magical parent, and usually, said parent was the disgraced child of a prominent pureblood family, or at least had some connection to one of the larger, not quite fully magical, families.

Tom didn't even have any proof that his mother was the magical one (although it was quite clear to the logical mind, seeing as she was the one who _named _him). All he had was raw talent, and he put it to use. Not so much to make the purebloods jealous, but enough for them to realize that he wasn't at the top of the class just because he did all of his homework and knew what the right answers were on paper.

But this halfhearted respect wasn't _enough_. Tom needed, not to make himself accepted, but desirable and even _necessary _within Slytherin House as he had done in Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff. Sitting around being polite and helpful just wasn't going to cut it.

The solution? Actively insert himself into the inner workings of Slytherin House without actually making it look like it was his doing.

The annoying thing about Slytherin House was that it held both ends of the extremes in the Wizarding World. On one hand, Slytherin House contained the majority of Magical Great Britain's power and wealth. On the other, it was the epitome of all things bad about the Wizarding world. Now, Muggles were narrow-minded and prejudiced, too, but seeing as Tom was a Caucasian male living in the mid-1900s, he had less to worry about from the Muggle world than the Magical world, where he was, as far as everyone actually important was concerned, an outsider.

Most of the conservative old guard refrained from insulting him because of his intelligence and power, but there was only so much he could achieve with pure talent alone. Connections and family name were a great deal, and that was a major problem because Tom wasn't inbred for twenty generations back.

_**Just nineteen. **_

_Oh, shut up. As long as it doesn't show up in my phenotype, we're fine._

_**Wait until we meet your uncle. It'll be glorious. Like Planet of the Apes.**_

_I think that's insulting to apes. They don't ALL come out deformed._

_**At least you're not Muggle-born, right?**_

_Are Muggles really _that _inferior?_

_**Five hundred years ago when Europe was still literally living in its own feces and chucking bodily waste out onto the streets? Sure! Now, when machine guns can fire killing curses at hundreds of rounds per minute?**_

_Shield Charms are pretty strong though, aren't they?_

_**Depends on how long it takes you to put one up. Are you faster than a bullet?**_

_Maybe with magic, we can figure out a way._

_**True. But anyway, if you're busy maintaining a shield, you can't fight back. **_

_So…lesson is, don't underestimate the Muggles?_

_**You're half-Muggle, and don't you forget it. Half-blood and proud, my friend. You've got the best of both worlds. Dumbledore is half-blood, and I'm pretty damn sure that Merlin, Morgana, Grindelwald, and any other wizard or witch that mattered was half-blood, too. It's in the rules. First step of being ridiculously overpowered is being born to either a Muggle father and a pureblood mother, or a pureblood father and a Muggle-born mother.**_

_Why not a pureblood father and a Muggle mother, or a Muggle-born father and a pureblood mother?_

**_...Because those are the rules._**

_What? That's stupid! Anyway, why would a kid with a Muggle-born parent be considered "half" blood if both of their parents were magical?_

**_...Because wizards are stupid._**


	8. Motivation

WARNING: If you haven't noticed before, the "humor" I have labeled this story as gets blacker over time. Kind of like what happens every time I try to make toast, because I am a failure when it comes to cooking.

What, you thought I was going to say something racist? You're racist!

* * *

_"#19. I will ensure that my lieutenants will always be too busy jockeying against each other for more power and status instead of plotting against me."_

While it was good for the Evil Overlord project that Tom was acknowledging the strength of the non-magical population, since, you know, there were several billion non-magical people in the world versus maybe a few million wizards…it was a shame that the rest of the Purebloods didn't think the same way. Not the end of the world, since Tom still had the other good chunk of Hogwarts to work with, but extremely irritating.

He couldn't have everything in the world, at this point. The only way to get the important Slytherins to _really _start worshipping him as their leader was behaving _like _them – and that, of course, would put him under Professor Dumbledore's radar. With Professor Dumbledore, it was different. Much, much, different. He knew Professor Dumbledore wouldn't hesitate to cut ties with a young man he believed to be going down the wrong path, or, even worse, stick his nose even further into their business. At least Malfoy and Black would continue to associate with him even with his "goody-two-shoes" "make-friends-with-all-the-commoners-yay" act.

And that was where the dilemma truly lay. If he made himself more political in nature, then he would earn himself an unwanted watcher – but as long as he remained "nice" enough to make himself popular with the less powerful majority, they would never take him seriously.

Well, seriously _enough_. When there wasn't anyone around to watch except for other Slytherins (after a few weeks Tom realized that as stupid as some of the Slytherins were, they knew how to keep secrets where it counted), Tom made sure to let everyone know that he was a right bastard. (Not literally, because his mother _was _married to his father. Maybe.)

It was only the fact that he openly associated with "commoners" like Minerva, Filius, and Pomona, rather than sneering down at them like he was supposed to, that kept him from moving past the glass ceiling. Even _after _he explained that Minerva, despite her Scottish accent (which Lestrange found laughable and liked to use to elevate his own status before other Slytherins, mainly to no avail), was a very talented witch who, with the assistance of her Head of House, could very well be teaching generations of their children one of the core subjects one day. As was Filius, even though he was half-goblin, and Pomona, who was, well, a Hufflepuff.

Sometimes logic got through to the "real" powers like Malfoy and Black…and sometimes it just didn't.

They understood supporting a boy like him, who was deserving of his placement in Slytherin. But that was as far as their generosity and open-mindedness would extend.

Because Minerva and Filius were just like him. Talented. Intelligent. And, in a true meritocracy, would rise to the top of society.

But Minerva and Filius were half-bloods (like that made a difference), and her magical side was rather obscure anyway, so she would never have the gold to buy her way into politics. And, as long as Tom, the orphaned Slytherin, continued to associate with "riff-raff" like them, rather than abandoning his heritage to associate with the "real" wizards, he would only ever be "riff-raff". Polished trash, but still, trash.

So the choice was: did he want to keep himself in Professor Dumbledore's good books and look like a weakling before the powerful purebloods? Or did he want to assert himself in the snakepit and garner distrust?

According to Jerry, getting on Professor Dumbledore's bad side was much more dangerous. And Tom had to agree. Because regardless of "weakness", Tom was still a strong and charismatic young man. Even if Malfoy and Black considered him below them, he would still be fit to associate with them. They knew he was useful – and as long as he let them think that they were using him, he could use them just as well.

His talent was a commodity, and it would always remain separate from his morality. Regardless of how he acted, he would always be wanted on some level. If he shifted his morality to their side, he could become their leader.

But Tom didn't need to be their leader – at least, not openly. He could control them just as well, by pretending to be a follower. Now, all he had to do was hike up the demand for a perfect follower, all the while lowering the supply, until he was the only commodity on the market suitable enough for their purposes left, and thus gain a monopoly on the whole favors business that was so prosperous in Slytherin House.

Hence, Master Plan 1a.

"Oh, and I mean Orion Black, by the way – not to be confused with his nine other cousins."

_**If someone said something mean about you, you'd want me to tell you, right?**_

"Black – "

"Oh, we're friends, Tom. Call me Orion."

"Funny you should say that, Orion, because Abraxas Malfoy has been insinuating that you can't tell any of the Blacks apart."

"Oh, really?"

"Something along those lines."

"Well, Tom, do you happen to know what Malfoy has been up to lately? We have some very pressing matters we need to discuss."

_**He wants to hang out tonight, but he told me not to tell you.**_

"I think he has been excluding you from some private occasions. I am not certain how important they really were, but I remember he was talking to Rosier, Dolohov, Greengrass,_ and _Yaxley on the last Hogsmeade trip, without you around." (Two important pureblood heirs talking to each other in private, not a problem. But five of them conversing, and leaving out the Blacks of all families, was little more than a direct insult.)

"_Why, that_ – "

"Tom, just exactly what did Orion Black say about me?"

_**He says everybody hates you because you're such a slut.**_

"He said everybody hates you because you're such a – "

_Wait – what's a slut?_

"Because I'm such a what?"

_Jerry!_

"Hmmm?"

"What did Orion Black say about me?"

"Oh, I shouldn't repeat it."

"Oh, please do."

_JERRY!_

_**What?**_

_Jerry! What are we going to tell Malfoy?_

_**Hmmm…**_

_What's a slut?_

**_I can't tell you that just yet._**

_Oh, for Christ's sake –_

"Well? Riddle? What did Orion Black say about me?"

"He said – "

Yes, driving a wedge between Black and Malfoy was all too easy, and it wasn't a month into term before the family feud had reached unprecedented levels. It was known that all the Pureblood families jockeyed against one another for power and prestige, but never before had such animosity actually become public.

"He _said _that?"

"You didn't hear it from me."

"_Why, that –_ "

But with Slytherin House taking sides between Malfoy and the Blacks, the power of the House as a whole was also divided – meaning that attention was also divided. All of a sudden, there was this mad scramble for allies between the two most prominent families in Magical Britain, where every man was important. Even the orphan half-bloods. _Especially _the orphan half-bloods.

All the other Pureblood families were pretty much bound to honor age-old contracts, so their sides in the conflict were already determined. The people from the non-major families were the real swing votes, and at the top of the pile was none other than Tom Riddle. It was no surprise that he was the most influential student among the neutrals, even if he was a penniless first-year. Neither of them trusted him completely – but they didn't really trust _anyone_, so it wasn't like Tom was any more or less desirable in the honor department than any of the other Slytherins. Rather, it was his potential that they were hoping to harness in the future, and as long as the feud continued to last, and Tom continued to prove himself to be a valuable asset in the invisible post-graduation war, he would be needed.

It was this _necessity _for talented allies that drove the Blacks and Malfoy to desperation, and this desperation caused them to overlook any blood issues that might have been a problem in regular times.

So they catered to his every whim, hoping to cash in on it later in the form of an ally, and Tom kept humoring them, always leaning in the direction of whoever was present and perpetuating the bidding war of favors with no intention of redeeming any of them.

And in this way, Tom Riddle went from a mere nobody-who-might-be-somebody-one-day to _that person that everyone had to be friends with or else!_

Oh, sure, there would always be brats with an over-inflated sense of self-entitlement who couldn't comprehend just how important he was to the future political scheme, but Tom always made sure to be _so_ especially nice to them. It was his – well, Jerry's – favorite way to screw with people he didn't like: by being nice to them.

Ah, smiling. The absolute best way to intimidate a man.

Technically, now that Tom thought about it, Edmond Lestrange should have been the desirable ally number one in the Malfoy-Black war, as the Lestranges were the third most influential family in Great Britain, and they were still currently neutral. But Edmond was too young and too inexperienced to get caught up in this spat.

Meanwhile, Tom Riddle wasn't. If anything, he was the one throwing alcohol onto the flames (not that he would tell anyone that clear liquid he was handing them wasn't really water).

Of course, Lestrange was smart enough to know that he was being left out of _something _big, even if he didn't know what, and decided to randomly guess and blame Tom for it. Unfortunately for him, Lestrange was right.

And by "him", Tom meant Lestrange himself.

Because every time he sought Tom out to start a fight, the confrontations always went in the same circles.

"I don't need help from a filthy little half-blood orphan like you!"

(Cue the sniggers from Lestrange's cronies.)

"I didn't realize I was offering _you _help in the first place, Lestrange. I was under the impression that you, as the only scion of the most powerful pureblood family in Great Britain, could easily be at the top of the class without any extra assistance. But, now that you've mentioned help…"

"I said I don't need any help!"

"Well, that's a shame. Oh, well. I suppose not everyone can be like the Blacks or the Malfoys."

"What about the Blacks or the Malfoys?"

"Well, _they're _not ranked below any 'filthy little half-blood orphans' now, are they?" Tom sighed. "So sad. Looks like the Lestranges aren't all that they're cut out to be, after all. Washed up after only five generations. But that's all right. I hear the Crabbes and Goyles are still going strong."

(Cue the sniggers from Lestrange's ex-cronies, turned Tom's minions.)

"Just you wait, Riddle. I'll – I'll – "

"Stutter at me? Come now, that's not very refined, now, is it?"

"My father will hear about this!"

"By the way, did I ever tell you how much better you are than Minerva McGonagall?"

(Cue the sniggers from Lestrange's cronies, once again.)

"But you just said – "

"What did I say?"

"You insinuated that I was ranked below her in classes!"

"I didn't insinuate anything."

"Yes, you did!"

"No, I didn't. I _stated _it. As a fact. There are progress report sheets available for anyone who wants one, and you're not even in the top five."

(Cue the sniggers from Lestrange's-cronies-turned-Tom's-once-more.)

"So you're insulting me!"

"Since when did I insult you? I've always supported you and believed that you were better than all the common masses."

"Wait, what?"

"It's true. Edmond Lestrange, you are the brightest, most intelligent, most charismatic first-year I have ever run across."

"You really think so?"

"I know so. You are destined for great things; I can feel it."

"Well, of course, we Lestranges have to be better than everyone else, don't we? You're not so bad yourself, Riddle. Even if you're a half-blood."

(Cue the confused looks from Lestrange's cronies.)

"That's very nice to know, Lestrange. I must say, you are doing a wonderful job of using your family name to cover up your own insecurities and lack of any actual talent."

(Cue Lestrange's enraged howl…five minutes too late, when Tom had already walked away.)

And then the next day:

"Oh! And here's your homework, Lestrange! You left it behind in the dormitories, so I went and got it for you. After all, it's not fair for someone like you to have to walk all the way back to the dungeons to get something when a house-elf can do the job just as well, right? Gosh, you're such a flawless person. I could only hope to be half the wizard you are."

Slowly, but surely, Tom's tactic of being "nice" drove Lestrange mad, while simultaneously endearing him to the public even more. Mainly because Tom wasn't asking for anything in return. And of course, Lestrange, being decently schooled in the art of politics, if not masterfully schooled, knew that there was no such thing as a free lunch.

His problem was that, like the rest of Hogwarts, whom Tom "helped", he didn't know _how _he was paying for it – because, unfortunately, he had not yet managed to comprehend the idea that there were less conspicuous forms of payment than pure money, or an explicit request for a favor.

What _Tom _was earning from this entire exchange was the growing desirability in the eyes of some of the older boys, who actually knew what they were doing and recognized the deception for what it was. Lestrange was giving up some of his own power to the "no-name Mudblood (even though I know that you're probably not Mudblood)" and Tom was milking it for all its worth. Even more so at this crucial time of shifting politics. Though Lestrange was the heir to a powerful family, he was not mature enough to openly declare himself as head of said family _yet_. Tom, on the other hand, was already demonstrating himself to be someone with clear use.

The only tricky part was _maintaining_ this façade of "usefulness", because they _could _drop him at any second once Lestrange finally stopped acting like a petulant child. Tom knew that status-wise, he could never surpass Lestrange, who, for all his faults, would still always be of superior birth. Therefore, he needed to show that he had something that Lestrange did not, and at the moment, it was everything _but _blood – intelligence, cunning, and magical prowness.

Just a few years. Just a few more years until both Abraxas Malfoy and Orion Black graduated from Hogwarts. That was more than enough time for Tom to secure himself as the de facto leader of Slytherin.

It wasn't like Tom actually needed their patronage, but getting insider information was so much easier when you were actually allowed inside.

Slowly but surely, the tight-knit circles of elitist Purebloods were cracking open, and Tom was always in the right places to sneak right through.

_Just look at what I did to this place with a few well-placed words and an innocent smile._

_**I'm so proud of you.**_

_***sniff***_

Other than the secret drama in Slytherin House and the exchanges with Professor Dumbledore, however, school life was ridiculously monotonous, and it took Tom all of his self-control not to just randomly jump up and start burning things down out of frustration. Especially when it took people _forever _to answer simple questions when all he wanted to do was just move on. Not just students, but teachers, also. There were disadvantages to stopping education in basic math at the age of eleven.

_WHY IS EVERYONE SO FREAKING STUPID? _

It was at times like this that Tom seriously appreciated Jerry's "experience" – for example, the old trick where you hide a smaller book inside of a bigger book, or, better yet, just temporarily Transfigure the covers. It wasn't like he could get in trouble for not paying attention – he had memorized the damn things already. That technique had been especially useful for Binns' class, since everyone slept in it anyway (except for Minerva, and he supposed Filius, the maniacs) and Binns didn't care either way about who paid attention or not.

History of Magic ended up being one of the most fruitful classes he had in Hogwarts, mainly because he actually didn't have to pay attention in it. Unlike Defense Against the Dark Arts, where every other week involved a practicum of some sort. Not that Tom hated Professor Merrythought – she knew what she was doing, at least – but he just felt that there were better ways to spend his time. At least she rarely, if ever, gave any homework – unlike pretty much every other damn class.

It was always write a blah-inch essay on some topic, and _damn _was it a boring waste of time. Tom didn't understand _why _they had to write essays. A list of items or a worksheet would have shown the teacher equally well that they understood the theory.

Once again, Jerry came to the rescue.

_**Write bigger.**_

_I can't do that; they can tell when you're BSing. They're not 100% stupid!_

_**Not kindergarten big! Just make your letters rounder and more elongated. If you make the loops in each letter short, your writing will LOOK tiny. You can't tell the difference character by character, but trust me – after a page or so it really adds up.**_

_But then there will be room for more lines._

**_That's why you make the LINES in your letters nice and tall. That way, you'll get massive line spacing, massive word-to-word spacing, AND still look like you're writing more._**

_Oh. I see. That's actually pretty smart._

_**And make your punctuation bigger! Put double spaces after your periods! Make the spacing between each line 1.5 character heights instead of 1, and make the margins 1.25 inches all the way around instead of 1 inch.**_

_You don't think they'll call me out on that?_

_**As long as you write neatly and have all the information in there, in an organized format, they could care less. **_

_Really? Are you sure?_

_**Use the structured paragraph format I showed you! It's the simplest and most BS way to organize information. You can waste so much space with transitions, and a topic and conclusion sentence. AND it's really helpful in making sure you answer the entire question.**_

_Are you sure the teachers won't want to see something…I don't know, a little less scientific?_

_**Look – the Herbology teacher is super chill, as is the Charms teacher. Professor Dumbledore and Professor Slughorn both like us. The Astronomy teacher and Professor Merrythought don't assign essays. And the only class in which you **_**might **_**get docked points for not being fancy enough is History, and that's taught by a friggin' **_**ghost**_**.**_

_But wizards aren't supposed to make sense, are they? It's easy for you to talk about messing around, but for me, I have to make sure I'm the best at everything I do in order to hold on to my position of power. I know you're trying to save time so we can start working on other things, but it's going to start being especially annoying if we do really well at first and then all of a sudden we crash and everyone starts looking down upon us._

_**Oh, how cute. You actually still care. Trust me, Tom. You'd have to **_**try **_**to fail in something as easy as school.**_

_I'm not talking about failing, but it might be harder for us if teachers think we're trying to get out of doing proper work. Life is miserable when there's that one teacher who hates you for no good reason. Well, they might have a reason for us…_

_**There's going to be thirty other kids they'll want to pick on before picking on **_**you **_**of all people. In fact, they're probably going to like you for being concise and writing big enough for them to see. Imagine how many of these they'll have to grade, and imagine how many more will be shitty. Do you really think they're going to take out a ruler to the one good essay out of a dozen bad ones?**_

_Whatever you say, Your Majesty._

_**Ooh – and here's a good one. Start a new paragraph as early into the line as possible. Still the same amount of words, but more blank space. And make your indents nice and big, too. **_

Even though Tom worked significantly faster than the average human being thanks to his intelligence and Jerry's tips, however, his hand could only move so fast before it started cramping. It wasn't that Tom was against hard work and practice…he just preferred to practice at things that he _knew _he'd be able to use in the future, rather than mere rote memorization of first-year-level facts.

_This is so stupid!_

_**Wait – hold on. I have an idea…**_

_What is it?_

_**You know how portraits and stuff can be charmed to hold conversations as long as it's within the scope of their subjects' living knowledge?**_

_Are you suggesting that we charm our papers to answer the questions for us?_

_**Exactly! I mean, as long as the answer exists within your consciousness, you can put it into magic. The only reason why students haven't all tried this before is because you can't input information that you don't know into a computer. This literally is just an artificial brain.**_

_Now that's brilliant. Why didn't you mention this before?_

_**Because I'm stupid, and you're stupid, and we didn't think of it.**_

_Huh._

After that incident, all Tom had to do to finish his homework was literally just copy down the essay topics and the length parameters onto his magical piece of paper, which automatically generated a perfectly grammatically correct essay answering said question in his handwriting.

Even if every single class assigned a maximum length essay, he'd still be done in thirty seconds, tops.

See, this was why he was the most amazing person in the history of the world.

_**You know, Muggle computer science students have successfully submitted college papers using this randomization tactic before. And they didn't even have magic. They just wrote a mechanical program to do it for them. They even made up scientific terms and graphs.**_

_How do you even know all of this?_

_**Hey – once upon a time, I was a student, too.**_

_Go figure. __Slacker Syndrome._

_**Details, details.**_

_I'm being serious, here._

_**You will learn what that means when you get to your seventh year and realize that grades are pretty much useless here and all that matters are your OWLs and NEWTS. **_

_Oh. Really._

_**Theoretically, you **_**could **_**just fail everything and then pass the standardized tests. The only reason why we're doing work is so the teachers like us.**_

_As I said before. Remind me again, why Charms homework doesn't matter?_

_**Basic economic principles. Opportunity cost. Organizing your priorities. You work harder for the teachers who are stricter, and BS more for the lenient teachers. For someone of your ability, putting in all your effort and simply half-assing it will get you the same grade, so why bother working any harder than you have to? Work at the spells and understand the theory, sure, but as far as this busy work is concerned, it doesn't help you at all. We're just doing it to get it done.**_

_I guess that makes sense. _

_**For example, with Professor Binns, there's very little difference between turning in a paper five inches too short and none. For Professor Dumbledore, you better make sure you're not slacking. Who do you have to work harder for?**_

_I know _that_, but I'm still concerned that we're scraping too much by the bare minimum. An O- is not enough – we have to be at the top of the class._

_**Then be at the top of the class, if you like. **__**The self-important Purebloods will probably hate you for it. No one is supposed to be that smart. Realistically you'd at least have a few faults.**_

_Ugh. Playing dumb _again_?_

_**Just work in the subjects that matter. Defense, Potions, Transfiguration, the works. Charms and Herbology are sort of second-tier – I mean, to **_**us **_**they're still extremely important, but people are generally prejudiced in favor of "#1 in Defense" versus "#1 in Charms." No one gives a damn about Astronomy or Flying.**_

_Broomsticks are stupid. I agree. _

…_When's flying class again?_

_**I don't know. You're the one who can move his arms to access the schedule.**_

_I just don't want to look like a complete idiot._

_**Play it cool, and pretend that you're better than broomsticks.**_

_If only we could fly without one. I'd totally do that. Maybe we should add that onto our list of things to do. Speed travel, but without that annoying stick of wood wedged between your legs. And what's so funny? Why are you laughing?_

_**Nothing.**_

_You're always doing nothing but hanging around in my head. I have to do all of the practical application around here. I'd like to see YOU ride a broomstick. _

_**I'm not laughing at you. I'm just as nervous as you are; trust me. Remember, if you fall, I feel it too – and unlike you, I won't be able to twist around or anything to brace myself.**_

_Then why were you laughing?_

_**Inside joke. **_

_Again?_

_**I'll explain when you're older. **_

_How much older?_

_**Before Hogwarts ends. Maybe.**_

_Whatever. Back to the thing with flying…imagine if we had something that no one could keep tabs on. Because I'm sure the Ministry would have some control over these damn brooms, or flying carpets, or that Teleportation-Apparition-Floo-Powder-Portkey thing. But if there was a new, completely original way, that only one person used, I doubt they'd spare all the time and resources to track it, right?_

_**Slow down. One thing at a time. We still have to learn invisibility. It's why I'm helping you improve your efficiency of all things.**_

_But you're always going on about using a system completely unfamiliar with the general public. _

_**Yeah, well, time investment. Remember that. Riddle Portals or whatever you're going to come up with won't help you learn invisibility. Invisibility, on the other hand, will help you make whatever you want to make – and do it even faster.**_

_Invisibility's so boring, though. Well, not exactly. But it's more boring compared to making yourself immortal, right?_

_**Building a foundation is more boring than building a house, but would you rather have a house that topples at the first breeze?**_

_Ugh. Fine._

…_I still haven't forgiven you for teaching me to count and do math using the octal numbering system and postfix notation, by the way._

_**But think about how far ahead you'll be once computers are actually invented!**_

_You completely screwed over my elementary education. I STILL think in octal sometimes and it takes me several seconds to convert back to base 10. It's extremely annoying._

_**Well, now, if your enemies ever discover your secret plans, and they see something like "100 days left to doomsday", imagine their surprise when it blows up in their faces 36 days early.**_

_Yeah, well, I couldn't count properly all throughout grade school because of you!_

_**Oh, quit whining, you big baby. And stop exaggerating. I know you're lying when you say you have trouble thinking in base 10. I grew up learning how to count in base 8 before base 10, too, and yet here I am.**_

_Shut up, Jerry. _

…_I still want teleportation, though._


	9. Empathy

WARNING: Potentially/probably/definitely offensive material ahead. Read at your own risk! What Tom and Jerry find funny are there to establish their character and do not reflect the personal views of the author.

* * *

_"158. I will exchange the labels on my folder of top-secret plans and my folder of family recipes. Imagine the hero's surprise when he decodes the stolen plans and finds instructions for Grandma's Potato Salad__."_

Of course, Tom wasn't ready to tackle teleportation yet, but he was finally making great progress with the mind-control family of spells, so many months after school had begun. The Room of Requirement couldn't provide real people for him to practice on, unfortunately, but there were training dummies and Remembralls that served the same purpose. Sneaking to and from the Room of Requirement was no problem at all, because Tom was so well-known around the school that if he wasn't with one group then it was immediately assumed that he was simply elsewhere. Everyone spent time with him at some point or another, so no one bothered to make sure he was accounted for at a _specific_ time.

His increased stealth, coupled with Jerry's infinitely useful time-saving strategies, ultimately doubled the amount of private time he normally had to practice spells that were supposed to be too advanced for him.

Hogwarts was truly too busy and too large for its rather small population of students, so it was no wonder that even a well-known child like Tom could make his way around without much issue. On the few occasions he might run into a nosy person or painting, his magic would protect him. And if a teacher happened to be near, he would know when to hide, thanks to The Map.

Because apparently The Map was a product of the Room of Requirement, too. Well, mostly.

_Wait – so why haven't more people tried something like this?_

_**Because people are stupid, of course. **_

_How does this room even work, anyway?_

_**Something we'll have to find out later.**_

_Is that…OP?_

_**Yes. Yes, it is, actually.**_

_Do you think it's just a placebo, like everything else…? I mean, think about it. Technically, _I _bring a less powerful version of the Room of Requirement wherever I go. Maybe this room is spelled, not to make or turn into whatever someone wants, but simply helps that person create it themselves. It would explain why it can "read your mind" despite not having an actual opposing consciousness._

_**That's an interesting theory.**_

_Basically, it's just like a wand. It helps you focus your magic. Only, instead of a skinny little stick, which is weaker but more portable, it's an entire room. Like a speedboat versus a massive battleship. And it's also the reason why you can't get references that don't exist yet – all these books were most likely summoned, or just duplicated, from somewhere else. _

_**If only there was a way to actually test that, right?**_

_Maybe one day, we can make our own Room of Requirement. And then use a Space-Expansion Charm on it so that we could carry it wherever we went. And then be hailed as the most powerful magical being since, like, forever._

_**We already kind of are.**_

_It just doesn't show._

_**Eventually. Anyway, focus.**_

A map of all of Hogwarts and its secret passages already existed, as did resources on tracking charms (_I need a room that will help me make a map that will show where everyone in Hogwarts is at any time_). Placing a tracking charm on every person in Hogwarts was impossible. But placing tracking charms layered with permanent sticking charms at regular intervals in Hogwarts connected to a main key on the map itself? Easily accomplished in a few nights. Hogwarts was large, and had a bunch of secret rooms and corridors, but luckily, these tracking charms were path-indeterminant. They just operated within a certain radius by default, regardless if they were going through one of those rooms larger on the inside than the outside or not. Four per floor had been sufficient.

Of course, Tom still had to _learn _all those spells – no easy feat – but Tom wasn't a genius for nothing. What took even intelligent adults months to learn, he could master in less than a week. This was no different.

The thing about magic, was that within certain parameters, you could _wish _just about anything to happen if your will and ability was strong enough. The hard part was knowing exactly _what _to wish. You had to formulate the right thoughts in your mind for the magic to manifest itself in the proper way.

_When we conquer the world we'll have to make a world map for EVERYONE._

_**You are such a stalker.**_

_You were the one who gave me this idea. Speaking of which, are there any charms that can change the colors of the letters? I want to highlight all the teachers' names orange, and Professor Dumbledore's red, so it's easier to see if they're following us or not. There's, like, a few hundred people in this entire damn place. I absolutely refuse to squint at all these little names written in Edwardian Script._

_**Ask for a spell to change font, too. Use Times New Roman. Or any other serif font. Except that shitty typewriter font…what's its name…Courier New. And for god's sake don't use Comic Sans. **_

_Why serifs?_

_**One, because sans serif fonts annoy the hell out of me, and two, so you can tell the difference between number 1 and lowercase L and a capital I and a messy lowercase i that's written so tiny you can't even see the space between the body and the dot. **_

_Makes sense…_

_**Anyway, now we can start regularly sneaking back to here to practice mind control spells. These first few times we were lucky, but our chances of remaining hidden go down every time we sneak out.**_

_All right. Let's go – no! Wait! Professor Dumbledore's starting down the seventh-floor corridor! Quick! I need a room no one else can get into!_

The Room of Requirement morphed again, and this time it was a rather blank place, without a door. The red flag marked "Albus Dumbledore" walked closer, closer, toward their hiding spot, and then passed it without another thought and disappeared around the corner.

Tom held his breath (and Jerry made a noise that imitated that because he no longer had any breath to hold) and didn't release it until the dot labeled "Albus Dumbledore" disappeared back into his study and became motionless.

_That was scary. Does he know this room exists?_

_**People have discovered it by accident multiple times in the past few centuries Hogwarts has been around. I'd say he probably knows it's here. Now, whether or not he was looking for it tonight, or simply happened to pass through this corridor, is debatable.**_

_What we need is a way to hide the contents of this map in case it ever gets lost or stolen. No one can know we have this._

_And maybe instead of just a map, we need a way to spy on people, too, so we can tell if they're just passing through or if they're actually up to something. Like – what did you call them? Video cameras? Like, you tap their names, and then a screen pops up and you can see what's going on around them –_

_**That is just so OP.**_

_But it's totally possible! I read that paintings can be used to spy on people, and there are artifacts that let you communicate face-to-face with people over long distances, and people use Supersensory Charms all the time! All of this is possible individually. We just need to figure out a way to put it all together._

_**First, figure out how to hide the map.**_

_Ugh. Fine. _

_**Hey, Room of Requirement! Can we have some books on how to hide contents of a piece of paper? Maybe even make it into a decoy? Oh, and if we have something on how to make it automatically return to us if someone finds it by accident and throws it away, that would be great.**_

_I don't think it can hear you._

**_Well, _fine _then. Why don't _you _do it._**

_No need to get all salty on me; sheesh._

Normally, Tom would only be in the Room of Requirement for a few hours or so, and at least give himself _some _sleep, but this was too important to let go. They could not risk the Map falling into wrong hands. It was an extremely powerful tool. They had already been carrying it around for a while as they worked on it (the tracking charms planted around Hogwarts had only taken one night to do, but learning the rest of the enchantments had taken nearly two months), and it was a miracle that nothing had happened yet. It was time they secured it before something _did _happen.

_**Eleven years old and already pulling all-nighters. I'm so proud of you.**_

So Tom and Jerry spent the whole night spelling a passcode and several illusionary concealment charms into The Map.

Tom was about to faint into his eggs and toast at breakfast that morning, but it was totally worth it. Now, if anyone ever managed to glimpse the paper by accident, all they would see was a rudimentary diagram of the political spats that led to the least important Goblin War that people paid even less attention to compared to everything else Binns talked about. And, speaking of Binns, they were lucky – they had double History of Magic this morning, so Tom got to sleep for two hours in that class.

It definitely wasn't enough (Tom, physically, was only eleven, after all), but now, at least, Tom had enough energy to sleep sitting up. Something that Jerry continued to adamantly claim was entirely possible.

_**Hey! If Muggle secondary school students with zero period science classes can figure it out, you can, too!**_

_What do zero period science classes have to do with anything?_

**_Because generally those classes have tall stools and lab counters instead of individual chairs and desks, so you can't lean against anything like in other classes. Also, since those classes generally start at seven in the morning, everyone's still half-asleep._**

_What? Mmph…how the hell am I supposed to sleep sitting up?_

_**Fold one hand under your chin, but not over your cheek, because there's nothing that yells "I'm sleeping!" more obviously than leaning, except putting your head down. Lay your elbow against the tabletop. Now you have a triangle between your neck, forearms, and desk. Loosely hold a pen in your other hand and put a book or something in front of you, and angle your face at around thirty degrees from vertical so it looks like you're looking down and taking notes. That way it looks less obvious than slouching or putting your head down and covering your face. **_

_It's really uncomfortable…_

_**I know. I'm sorry. **_

_It's not your fault. The Map had to be secured. I'll get used to it._

_**Just sleep. I'll can still hear things even if your eyes are closed. I'll wake you up if anyone calls on you. Hey – thank the gods of genetics you have super long eyelashes. At this angle, no one can tell if your eyes are opened or closed.**_

_Thanks,_

_**No problem. Teacher's pet.**_

_Mmph._

Miraculously, they made it through the rest of that day without getting caught by any teachers (first year was mostly theory work and it wasn't uncommon for all the note-taking days to fall on the same day). Besides that, they had all of the "non-important" subjects today.

Of all the days to come after their first all-nighter, it was a pretty lucky one.

Winter break came and passed. Tom, naturally, opted to turn twelve at Hogwarts rather than back at the orphanage. It was blissfully empty except for a few people, and there were no classes, making running about easier than ever. Even Professor Dumbledore was gone – off on some "research" missions around Europe (probably having something to do with the brewing tensions building up in Nazi Germany).

Tom made sure to owl him a package of woolly socks, though. All of his teachers got simple presents and "heartfelt" notes from him. Because he totally genuinely cared about them, and not because he was trying to kiss up to them or anything, you know?

In the months that came along, Tom would add extra modifications to the Map, like an automatic search function for any one person as long as they knew the name, zoom functions, in case they wanted to view a certain area in more detail, and even fingerprint-based passcodes so that even if some suspicious stalking busybody managed to overhear the "password", they wouldn't be able to reopen the map.

Some wizards knew about blood-based spells, but he doubted any of them realized that fingerprints were also equally important identifiers.

Of course, this still took up a lot of time, as a lot of Jerry's ideas for improvements came from modern Muggle technological advances, so the Room of Requirement couldn't necessarily provide everything they were looking for. It was a small price to be paid, however. There was nothing more important than the ability to sneak around successfully. That, and mind control.

Eventually, these tracking spells would be planted all over London, then England, and then the rest of the world.

But for now, being able to make it to and from the Room of Requirement effectively was all that they needed.

With the Map mostly finished, and the initial roadblock against controlling mind-related magic long removed, returning to simple spells like _Imperio _weren't actually that difficult. Once again, neither Tom nor Jerry quite understood why saying spells out loud was helpful or why they still couldn't seem to conjure food (what if in the future they got discovered and their enemies figured out how to trap them in a place where there's no food and they starved to death? That was a major security issue!), but that didn't matter.

Yet.

Really, mind control and memory wiping were all easy to do. Hard to control, but easy to do. He didn't want to turn people into vegetables by accident. That would make him slightly noticeable. Just slightly.

But Tom figured it out easily enough. As in, by the end of his first year, he could already mess with peoples' minds to great effect without getting caught. Of course, he wasn't going to try anything on any teachers, yet, but other students were fair game.

Especially his fellow Slytherins.

Now that he thought about it, Memory Charms and Confunding were a great deal of fun.

_Do you think Lestrange will eventually notice that he always seems to forget everything right before all the major tests?_

…_**Nah.**_

God, screwing around with Lestrange was just _so _fun. Mainly because he always reacted so violently to being anything less than perfect. It was like he expected to be _born _into talent, just because he was Pureblood. Tom wouldn't deny that some people were born better than others – him being a key example – but these sorts of people just appeared randomly. No one was guaranteed perfection just because their parents were magical for so many generations back.

The amount of self-entitlement all these people expected – even the more controlled purebloods, like Black and Malfoy – was astounding.

But all the better for Tom, who could use that arrogance to his advantage. Because he was just a little half-blood. And no one would ever suspect a little half-blood of being able to accomplish something they couldn't accomplish themselves.

_Hold on…if every average Ministry pencil-pusher knows how to do a Memory Charm…how are we going to protect our own memories? "Obliviate" is one syllable off from "Obliterate" for a _reason_! I don't want random idiots tearing up my hippocampus!_

_**There is a way to extract memories from yourself. It's rather dangerous if done improperly, of course, and you need a special tool to view them again because you can't really duplicate them. On the other hand, you can learn to shield your mind.**_

_Oh, like Occlumency and Legilimency? I think I remember that from somewhere in the law books – but I'll need another person to practice with._

_**Well, at this point, you're probably too young for anyone to bother with Obliviating, anyway.**_

We_ Obliviate Lestrange for shits and giggles on a _daily basis_._

_**Well, we're – **_**us**_**. The day you forget something is the day you have to be worried – because you genetically **_**cannot **_**forget.**_

_But one day, we'll have to protect ourselves against this mental intrusion. No doubt there are people here who are Legilimens. Anyway, I don't want to be Obliviated, or Confunded, or mind-controlled in any way, shape, or form. That's MY job, not theirs._

_**We COULD sweet-talk Slughorn into it. He seems smart enough to know. But we'll probably have to wait a few years before it can be realistic. **_

_Like how old?_

_**Thirteen? Fourteen? Fifteen? Most people don't learn until they are in their twenties or thirties at the very least. But it's not impossible for a reasonably intelligent person to start learning Occlumency by sixteen and mastering it a few months later. It shouldn't be much of a stretch for you to want to start earlier, and succeed.**_

_What about eleven?_

_**Well, in your first year, Slughorn might just laugh you off and tell you to wait until you're older. I guess it couldn't hurt to **_**ask**_**. You'll probably be able to wheedle **_**some **_**sort of promise out of him.**_

_Don't worry. I got this._

**_Tom? What are you doing?_**

_Shut up and watch._

Tom smoothed down his hair, made himself look as presentable and innocent as possible, and headed over to Professor Slughorn's office.

"Oh, Tom! Come in, lad. What can I do for you?" Slughorn was sitting behind a pile of papers, neatly stacked on top of his desk now that people realized that scrolls tended to roll around a lot more, with an ornately decorated cup of something in his pudgy hand.

"Sir, I wondered what you know about…about Occlumency?"

_**This conversation sounds eerily familiar.**_

_Does it?_

Professor Slughorn reached underneath his desk and poured himself a little more of the alcohol. Really, drinking in a school. Whatever. Tom knew that the older students liked to sneak things in sometimes, too.

Slughorn beamed amicably at him, his thick fingers absentmindedly caressing the stem of his wine glass. "Project for Defense Against the Dark Arts, is it?"

"Not exactly, sir," Tom said truthfully, for once. "I came across the term for reading and didn't really understand it. Well – I do – but I'm not sure how it works – like the whole eye-contact thing – because you can't really see it like you see a spell, can you? But _you _obviously know all about them, sir? I mean, a wizard like you – sorry, I mean, if you can't tell me, obviously – I just knew if anyone could tell me, you could – so I just thought I'd ask."

"Well," Slughorn puffed out his chest proudly, "well, it can't hurt to give you an overview, of course. Right now you're still a bit young to be attempting it, but come back to me in a few years and I'll be perfectly happy to teach you."

_That was easy._

_**Dammit, Tom! **_

"Really? You'd do that?" Tom asked.

"Well, certainly. Very few people are capable of it – but if anyone might be able, it would be a boy like you, Tom, and I certainly wouldn't want to deny you any potential skill just because you couldn't find a proper teacher even though he was sitting right in front of you! Why, even your own Professor Merrythought isn't an Occlumens – in fact, I think Professor Dumbledore and I are the only teachers in Hogwarts who are well-versed enough in the subject. And I'm sure a few other members of the noble families pass it down from heir to heir. But, well, he's the Gryffindor Head, so let's just keep this something between you and me, shall we?" Slughorn winked at him.

_Once again: that was too easy._

_**Once again: God-effing-dammit, Tom!**_

"Thank you so much, Professor Slughorn!" Tom gushed.

"Oh, no problem, m'boy. You might be a bit young, but…hmmm…I might have some materials lying around for preparatory Occlumens…" Slughorn heaved himself from his chair and started rifling through the backs of his shelves. "Ah, here they are! Well, just take these for now, and come back and remind me about this in your fourth or fifth year – or whenver you feel ready. It might be earlier, because you're starting so early, but what can I say. Initiative is key!"

"Thank you so much, sir."

"Oh, you are welcome, Tom."

_I told you I got it._

_**I know, dammit. **_

_We are _so _good at this._

Tom ended up finishing all of Professor Slughorn's materials before finals week had even come, but ended up deciding to wait until at least after the summer to return for practical lessons. He knew that Professor Slughorn, despite his exuberant nature, knew how to keep a secret. (He had the backup line all planned out, too – "Oh, and Professor…do you think you can keep this a secret between us? I'm not trying to be – elitist, or whatever. It's just that – well, if the other kids found out I was getting private lessons from you, they might be jealous. Or even the other teachers, because they might accidentally mention it to the parents, and that might lead to some troubles for us. And I don't want that.") To be honest, he would have loved dearly to start early, but there was simply so little time left at Hogwarts that he decided he might as well wait until he had a continuous period of time to start.

Also, he was doing his best to perfect his Memory Charms, in the event that Slughorn might accidentally stumble across Jerry during their lessons. Because, if Jerry was discovered, then it would be very bad. Materials on Legilimency and Occlumency were scarce enough to begin with, and none of them ever said anything about what would happen in regards to a split personality.

There was a chance that Jerry wouldn't show up on Professor Slughorn's radar at all, since he wasn't exactly a visible or tangible memory – but neither Tom nor Jerry wanted to take that chance. Proper Legilimens could sense thoughts, too, and Jerry was full of those.

_**I think I'll just keep quiet.**_

_Yes, that might be for the best._

_**Well, **_**you **_**seem awfully happy at that prospect.**_

_Do I?_

_**You're a terrible human being.**_

_YOU'RE the one who thinks it's funny to memory-wipe random people! _

_**One, you find it funny, too, and two, it's not "random" people, just Lestrange.**_

_Yeah, well, you were the one who came up with that idea._

_**Pot and kettle, Tom. Pot and kettle.**_

_I'm not trying to be morally upstanding; I'm just trying to drag you down to my level. Not that you need the help._

_**Please, it's not like he remembers!**_

_I suppose that's true. What he doesn't know won't hurt him._

_**That is very true. **_

_What he doesn't know…_

_**Hmmm?**_

_Wait._

_**What?**_

_Jerry. Ummm…if you've been mind-wiped, how would you know if you've been mind-wiped?_

_**Well, that's the thing. You don't. That's sort of the **_**point **_**of erasing someone's memory.**_

_Okay. Listen. Um. I know we're learning to protect our own minds now, but…how do you know we haven't been mind-wiped BEFORE all this?_

_**Ummm…oh. Shoot.**_

_It's a conspiracy!_

_**Okay. Shit. Do we have any Remembralls?**_

_But they don't tell you _what _you've forgotten._

_**You have an eidetic memory. **_**Any **_**red glow is bad.**_

_Do you think we're overreacting?_

…_**Nah.**_

Though the odds were very highly in his favor, that didn't make him any less paranoid. He could be attacked from the back at any moment, and…

_**Unlikely, at your age, but you're right. It's a precaution we must take.**_

_How do you even tell if you're mind-wiped?_

_**You're in a better position than most, since you've got an eidetic memory. So if they do a bad job, like most will do, because they won't bother to fill in your missing memories with something else that makes sense, then there will probably be this weird, unexplainable gap in your mental timeline.**_

_And how do you suggest we retrieve those missing memories? They could be ANYWHERE! In any combination of fragments!_

_**Look, why don't we just get to the Room of Requirement and ask for a Remembrall and see how it goes, all right?**_

_Fine, _Tom thought, abandoning everything else and sprinting as fast as he could to the seventh floor. As always, the Room of Requirement went completely overboard and produced an entire shelf of Remembralls rather than just the one that Tom needed. Grabbing onto the one closest to him, Tom held it up to his face, heart pounding away in anticipation.

He needed to know the answer.

_**Look, chances are, we're just completely overreacting, and everything will be fine.**_

_Of course. There's no way anyone would bother screwing with the mind of an eleven-year-old orphan, right?_

_**We're totally fine!**_

_Of course we are!_

The smoke shifted.

And then Tom was staring at the cloud of red smoke in abject horror.

_..._

_..._

_..._

At that point, there was only one thing Tom could say to properly voice his feelings.

"FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU – "


	10. Strength

Holy cow, guys, 60+ reviews for one chapter? Keep up the awesomeness!

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Obligatory pre-chapter warning: If you go to church every Sunday and enjoy it, please brace yourselves. I swear I don't know where all these awful jokes come from.

Also: Last chapter, someone called **kk** asked to translate this story into Chinese. Yes, you have my permission to do so, but remember to give credit, and send me the link so I can post it on my profile. You don't have to wait for this story to be finished before you start translating.

* * *

_"#211. I will leave no loophole unraveled."_

" – UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!"

_**Okay, er, calm down, Tom! Maybe this one is screwed up! We'll find another one!**_

_Jerry, help me!_

_**Tom, calm down.**_

_HOW THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO CALM DOWN?_

_**Look, for all you know, it could be me.**_

_What?_

_**We forgot to account for me. You have a perfect memory. I **_**don't**_**. Hell, the reason why I haven't ever told you my "real" name yet is because I seriously don't remember what it is.**_

_So you're saying that the red smoke that says I forgot something in spite of my perfect memory is actually you not remembering your own name._

_**Among other things.**_

_Jerry, this is serious._

_**And I'm **_**being **_**serious. Remembralls just pick up anomalies in your memory pathways, which can either be generated by artificial rearrangement of stored information. And you know what else causes anomalies inside your brain? An entire alter ego wedging itself in there.**_

_You sure?_

_**Positive. Look – why don't you just – ignore this, for now. I'm sorry I got you that idea. When we learn Legilimency, we can – I don't know, Legilimize ourselves in the mirror, and then you can dig through your own memories personally.**_

_Can you do that?_

_**The standard **_**Obliviate **_**isn't like the mind-control spell **_**we're **_**trying to do, right? It only suppresses memories. It doesn't wipe them.**_

_Okay. Fine. Fine. I understand._

…_But Jerry?_

_**What?**_

_What if I've actually been mind-wiped?_

_**Then we'll find that memory.**_

…_**And maybe we'll find some of mine, too.**_

_All right. We'll…piece your memories back. And then we'll do this Remembrall thing again. And then…what if it's still red?..._

_**We'll burn that bridge when we get there.**_

…_So, do we need to go on some magical quest to piece your memories back together?_

_**I think I'll be fine doing it myself. You'll notice that I'm remembering a lot more things about the magical world than when you were one. If I need anything I'll let you know.**_

_If that goddamned thing is still red when you say you're done, I'll kill you._

_**Riiight.**_

Spurred with a new purpose, Tom had managed to perfect his personal mind-control spell by the end of the year. And, despite Jerry's pleading, he absolutely refused to refer to it with Jerry's supposedly brilliant dubbing, _Conperviate_, on the grounds that it sounded absolutely ridiculous. Also, because he was getting a little bit of revenge on Jerry for calling all of the _other _names he had come up with stupid as well.

_**Look – we need a way to distinguish it from the other three known spells! Confundo, for a subtle manipulation that allowed the user to still act like themselves, Imperio, for those moments when you needed absolute control immediately, and Obliviate, so no one would suspect that they had ever been under any external mental influence. It makes perfect sense!**_

…_It's a stupid name._

_**Well, what do **_**you **_**suggest?**_

…_I don't know, but it's stupid all the same._

Tom still wasn't sure how the Ministry would react to an unregistered spell, but he didn't want to find out. Just because there was no written law against it didn't mean that the mass of doddering old conservatives wouldn't act all offended and appalled, anyway. Not so much against the magic itself, but against the atrocity that a little first-year half-blood kid with no magical parents to teach him might be still smarter than _they_ were, pre-established advantages and all.

Although, come to think of it, not having an actual formal rule against random spell creation, while good for him, was also stupid. _Really._ There were laws requiring Animagi to register themselves, but there was nothing against people just randomly inventing potentially much more hazardous things, like, say, an entirely new, untraceable, ultra-powerful mind-control spell that didn't even have a name or incantation!

Well, there _were _– but the creators didn't have to publish any new spells until they were complete, so theoretically, anyone could just create anything and claim that all of the unwelcome aspects of the spell were simply mistakes that they were trying to fix. Only, Tom wasn't sure how he'd be able to spin the existence of a mind-control spell of such depth in _his _favor…

Hmmm…

_"Excuse me, honorable Wizengamot people, but I was actually trying to make a spell that could help people regain lost memories. You know, like a Remembrall, but one that actually tells you what you're forgetting. It's just not working in the way I intended…"_

_You think that might fool them?_

_**Hard to say. Some of the more close-minded people wouldn't believe that a half-blood would be capable of spell creation at second year…**_

_I was actually talking more along the lines of Professor Dumbledore._

_**No. Absolutely not.**_

_But he likes me!...right?_

_**The point is, the man has had experience with being tricked, and will not hesitate to change his opinion of someone's true nature if proper evidence is presented before him.**_

_We can't be _that _bad, right? I mean, it's _just _mind control. Wizards do it all the time. Confundo, Obliviate, the works. They could make an argument against Imperio, since it _is _an Unforgivable Curse, but our mind-control spell doesn't work like Imperio, does it? And as long as we lie through our teeth and pretend that we haven't been practicing it on anyone else, just test objects, we can't get into trouble for being curious, right?..._

_**Maybe. Look. I'm not a mind reader. You're not one, either – at least, not yet. And neither of us can predict the future. Professor Dumbledore might be forgiving. Or, he might not.**_

_Why not?_

_**Once upon a time, he liked Grindelwald, too, before the man ever became famous. It didn't end so well for him. As a result, he has always had a sharp eye on the lookout against any other potential Dark Lords.**_

_Grindelwald…you mean the extremist in Germany right now? The one who's stupidly trying to take over the world with an ARMY of all things?_

_**Yes. That one.**_

_Huh._

_Should we cheer Grindelwald on? I think we should. Even though he's being an idiot, he's still going to create a massive deal of damage that we can use to our advantage when the war has ended and there's a massive power vacuum like, everywhere._

_**Why are you preaching to the choir, kid? I already know conquering the world with war is stupid. **_**I **_**was the one who told you that Jesus Christ was the closest anyone ever got to world domination.**_

_Ah, yes. Jesus Christ. My hero. If only he lived for one or two thousand more years. He might have seen it happen. He was too damn nice; that was his problem. He should have been more politically inclined, at least – even if that might have undermined his status as the "bringer of peace" a little bit._

_Seriously, though. He was the Son of God! If God can smite all the sinners he likes, I don't think anyone else would fault The Holy Son for doing the same._

_**I don't think those were Jesus' original intentions, but okay…**_

_Look, all I'm saying is that if he had simply "accidented" Judas, he wouldn't have ended up with nails stuck through his wrists. Then again, part of the reason why he became so popular was because of him martyring himself to save all of mankind…hmmm…_

_Seriously, though. Self-sacrificial deaths have just been the most overused declaration of love in all of literature since then. It's all Jesus' fault. If it hadn't been for Jesus, I wouldn't have had to suffer through eight hundred pages of Jean Valjean being such a goddamned saint. God, I hated that book. In fact, I hate all of those books where the main character always has to be such a hero and save every damn person he meets. When will we have a book where the main character just takes what he wants and doesn't get any karmic repercussions? And when I say "book," I mean fiction, not history books._

_I mean, just think about all of the world rulers who exploited their subjects and sent their armies to plunder and pillage all the neighboring small kingdoms, and lived out their lives in their nice golden castles. Sure, we hear about other asshole rulers getting themselves beheaded or overthrown, but the majority of cruel kings never faced any punishment! Hell, Thomas Edison stole pretty much everything he did from Nikola Tesla, and what did he get for it? Let's see, he died mostly peacefully, as a rich man, surrounded by loving friends and family. And what did Tesla get as compensation? Absolutely-friggin' nothing._

_**That was the most beautiful rant I've ever heard.**_

_I'm being serious. All of that nice and happy BS about "loving thy neighbor" and "do unto others as you would have done to yourself" or some tripe like that never did anyone any good._

_**"Thou shalt not commit adultery" is my favorite line.**_

_What _is _adultery, anyway?_

_**Something for adults.**_

_No shit, Sherlock._

_**Mind your language.**_

_Will you stop saying that, you hypocrite?_

_**Excuse you.**_

_Excuse _you_ – I think I deserve to know a little more! Anyway, I am more of an adult than many adults in this world._

_**Well, in this case, you're not yet a grown-up.**_

_Ugh. I hate you._

_**Speaking of Jesus…**_

_No! No changing the subject this time!_

_**Hear me out! I have a brilliant idea! Honestly! We should totally resurrect Jesus! No – better yet – just stage the Second Coming of Christ with a bit of magic and…*poof!* That's about a third of the world behind you, right there! Maybe more, if we include the agnostics now begging for mercy.**_

_Now _that _would be awesome. I can already walk on water. We were doing buoyancy spells in Charms class just yesterday. And I'm a natural at public speaking. And healing lepers with a single touch shouldn't be too hard to learn, either. There are charms that can turn water into wine and increase the amount of food we have, too. So why the hell was Jesus so special?_

_**Maybe it was because he did it without a wand.**_

_So? So can I!_

**_Maybe you're the second coming of Jesus, then._**

_Maybe I AM._

_**Agreed.**_

_We are so amazing._

_**Yes. Yes, we are.**_

_Where were we again?_

_**Something about not getting caught creating a mind-control spell that is, at this point, probably more dangerous than even the Imperius Curse.**_

Yes, Tom didn't think that it would end well for him if Professor Dumbledore discovered that he was experimenting in mind control…even if he tried to pass it off as an attempt at simple memory relocation. Something told him that the old Transfiguration teacher wouldn't be as stupid as the rest of the Wizarding World…

Not that he was, you know, dumb enough to let anyone find out. Why would anyone know? His spells didn't show up on his wand, and he could change his own appearance with just a single thought. A bit of Transfiguration and some illusionary spells, and he could be mistaken for any other old wizard. He wasn't at the natural skill level of a Metamorphmagus yet, but there really wasn't any point in being able to turn your hair bright pink without the aid of a wand unless you were attempting to infiltrate a colony of alien space pigs.

On one hand, his mind control methods were really useful. On the other, it still had some issues. Like all mind control spells, it lost effectiveness if someone was exposed to it long-term, or if the distances between them got too far and the connection broke. And besides, Tom could only use it on one person at a time, since he only had one wand. If he wanted to use them in the future, at all, he'd have to come up with a better way.

But for his current purposes, (like messing around with randomly selected strangers, both wizard and Muggle alike, so they opened bank accounts in Switzerland under fake identities for him using the money received from selling the magically conjured graphite turned into diamonds on the black market – also done through mind-controlled middle men), it was adequate. He had made sure that none of his little worker bees remembered what they did or who he was (or even saw him, since he got them all when their backs were turned). But, if, by some freak accident, they _did _manage to catch a glimpse of him, then all they would have seen was a middle-aged woman with long blonde hair and blue eyes, or a bald man with a beard, or a little girl in a red coat, or an obviously completely innocent-looking tall man with well-combed dark hair and a curly moustache in a black fedora and trench coat with upturned collars.

As a result of diverting all of his energy into these little projects, when the final exams actually arrived, Tom could proudly say to himself that he had done absolutely zero studying.

Well. Zero studying on the subjects actually tested in first-year finals.

_Wingardium Leviosa. _Oh, _please_. Like _anyone_ needed eight entire syllables just to make a damn feather float.

After all, if he had to decide between memorizing who got pushed into what bog at the start of the third Goblin Wars, or perfecting his mind control technique, he'd choose the latter. You never know when you might have to Confund, Imperius, and Obliviate a person all at once, all the while still having a completely clean wand. He was a future Evil Overlord, for Merlin's sake. He simply didn't have the _time _to even_ think_ the words – whatever the incantation was, as he hadn't bothered to come up with one in the first place, anyway – every time he wanted someone to do something for him.

On the other hand, Flourish and Blotts had loved his idea of marketing a whole line of study guides, if the amount of revenue deposited straight from the pockets of desperate procrastinators for about two pages of Sparknotes had said anything…

Tom honestly did not feel very bad at all about not caring one whit about his grades. See, for an Evil Overlord, not caring about grades wasn't the same thing as not caring about one's education. For him, an education was _how _what he learned could be applied to his goals. Exactly what the teachers _believed _he was learning was completely irrelevant. The only reason why he even tried was because no one would ever respect an idiot past school. Oh, they might crowd around a popular, dumb jock, all right, but no one ever remembered any Quidditch players past school unless they played for a professional league, and even then that was debatable considering the vast number of people who simply weren't fans.

Maybe, in a different life, he wouldn't have settled for anything less than the best, but after spending an entire lifetime with someone like Jerry, Tom realized that, after a certain level, grades were only there for point manipulation. After all, a 94% and a 98% both translated to an A, in the Muggle world, and for a person of Tom's natural talent and Jerry's resourcefulness, there really wasn't any difference in reward between maximal and minimal effort. The Law of Decreasing Marginal Utility and all that.

_I wonder if wizards even know what they're doing half the time, or if they just rely on age-old principles from the thirteen hundreds when Europe didn't understand that being dirty led to illness even when the rest of the world viewed that as a topic of common sense._

_**Really, Tom. There's no point in competing in a system that you know you're so far above. As long as you know you're better than that – and you are, because you're a first-year doing nonverbal and wandless magic, making up your own spells – you don't need to prove that you're the best. Just do what you can to earn respect. Get your Os, get your O.W.L.s and get your N.E.W.T.s.**_

_But don't piss off anyone too competitive, or else they'll hate me, right?_

_**Well, that goes without saying.**_

_Sometimes I wish I didn't have to dumb myself down._

_**I wish you didn't have to, either. But what are we going to do? If the world knew just exactly how smart you were…**_

…_They'd chuck me in a madhouse in an instant._

_**Hey – consider this your wind-down time. You need moments of relaxation. These exams are the perfect excuse to slack off and daydream in.**_

_An Evil Overlord, daydream?_

_**You're not an Evil Overlord yet. Just enjoy your childhood and free time while you can. Being the god of the world has its fun, but sometimes, so does the mindless pleasure of taking a test too easy for you.**_

Considering that he had to work harder to make sure he tied with Minerva and Filius than to get a perfect score, Tom wasn't sure if he could actually count that as relaxation. It was hard, as a perfectionist, to force himself to answer certain things wrong in the right way. If he just did it all mindlessly, and answered things completely wrong, then teachers would get suspicious or think that he was just messing around and didn't care about their class. But if he made reasonable mistakes, then they could just pass it off as human error.

Tom's problem was that he didn't _make _mistakes. At least not with something like classwork. More complicated things, like forming plots to rule the world, sure.

But this stuff was so easy that he actually had to try harderto get a wrong answer than a right one. Even with Jerry babbling in his head, trying to distract him on purpose so that he _would _make mistakes. Even when he was multitasking with planning future schemes, he didn't make mistakes. Tom was simply so accustomed to all those mind-numbing, absolutely senseless problems on paper that he could probably take the final while sick with the flu after three whole days of no sleep and still get a higher grade than most of the class.

The saddest thing was, this _legitimately _was a reasonably challenging final exam for the other first-years. Even the smarter ones like Minerva or Filius.

He wondered if he would ever meet a person who felt the same way. And then he hoped he wouldn't, because that would be competition, and all competition would have to be eliminated. And eliminating someone who might finally understand him would be rather tragic, but it would have to be done. There could not be two Evil Overlords running around, and, as fun as the potential endless mind games there could be between the two of them, there were just risks that he was not willing to take.

Of course, the _chance _of that risk actually coming true seemed to be shrinking by the day. No matter what he did, it seemed like people around him seemed to be getting stupider and stupider every second. Except for mayble Professor Dumbledore. And he just couldn't be friends with Professor Dumbledore.

So he decided that he would have to settle for Jerry's internal companionship at this point. Jerry didn't have an eidetic memory, but Tom supposed that having to view everything from a third-person perspective made you that much more sensible about the world. Having an intellectual equal (and, for someone of his calibre, that automatically amounted to "rival") in a separate body would definitely be interesting, but not worth the trouble – whatever enriching experience he might receive from said person could not possibly outweigh the consequences that might befall him should he _lose_.

In any event, Tom didn't need personal companionship. He wasn't trying to sound heartless or cold – it was simply true. He didn't _feel _for people, and it wasn't because they were all so far below him (although, admittedly, that was part of the problem). He just had no grasp on appreciating a foreign personality whatsoever. Tom reacted properly to people because he knew how to do it and what it meant to them, but as far as he was concerned, Lestrange licking his boots clean and Lestrange insulting him was the same exact thing, barring amusement. He did not require emotional support from other human beings. It was simply that certain people, and certain behaviors, resolved his boredom better than others.

When it came to an actual and present danger, of course, it was a completely different story. Hence the reason why the amusement an intellectual rival might present could never convince him to overlook the idiocy of letting him or her live. And also the reason why he would never even _consider _making the mistake of cloning himself.

But he agreed with Jerry that staying up late, practicing mind control, instead of studying with everyone else, had been a much more profitable use of his time.

Hey – the country was still struggling to get out of the economic downturn, so all the stocks in general were still extremely low. And, according to Jerry, once 1939 hit and World War II started (because _one_of them wasn't enough for Europe, oh no), they would skyrocket like no tomorrow. How could anyone _not _expect him to take advantage of that? Pawning a few diamonds (magically pseudo-conjured, via the pressurized graphite method) was sufficient to get him more than enough startup money to invest in a ton of stocks in war-related companies. He would need somewhere (multiple somewheres, actually) to stash all of that cash without the government breathing down his neck.

Luckily, thanks to the fact that he was still gaining profits from his partnership with Flourish and Blotts' over the whole "Eraseable Quills" thing, no one looked twice at him getting regular bank statements. If he had just been like he used to be at the beginning of the year, then maybe teachers would wonder what a ward of the state like him was doing with money of his own. And also, now that he was marketing printer paper (which was both easier to use and cheaper than regular parchment), the Gringotts bank statements didn't look any different from Muggle-delivered ones.

Now if only he could start setting up secret accounts into which he could divert some of this money…then he could actually start buying out people and things that mattered, like the more important offices in the Ministry of Magic and the _Daily Prophet_.

Oh, well. He had barely been in this world for a year. He could wait another six years, whereupon he would become a legal adult and there would be less scrutiny of his money.

Other than that, however, there wasn't much to be done over the summer, since the economy would still be stagnating for a while. Tom did continue to perfect his mind control, invisibility, and magical disguises – all of them extremely fundamental skills, if you really thought about it (which most people didn't) – and, coincidentally, also the three basic tenets of world domination (which was pretty scary, since a good chunk of wizards could perform all three skills adequately) if you used them properly (which was not as scary, since application was literally easier said than done). He also started expanding his magic map to include pieces of Magical London, which was a lot harder than it sounded, because London was HUGE.

But Tom had an entire summer, so he at least managed to get the important parts, as in, the places where world leaders actually visited. (No one cared about the slums a hundred years ago, and no one cared about them now – and Tom definitely wasn't going to go down any shady alleys anytime soon. Maybe one day he'd figure out how to mind-control someone to walk into there for him and stick the specific tracking charm linked to his magical maps onto the brick.) At least all that practice had helped him make the Tracking Charms stronger, so they could monitor regions larger than he grounds of Hogwarts, too.

All in all, his summer hadn't been wasted, and his first year had been equally profitable.

If only he could figure out why the food rule still wasn't working.

* * *

BONUS #3

_(Sorry, guys! I forgot to post this one for the last chapter…anyway, happy 300 reviews! The 400 review one should come next chapter.)_

Also hosted by boomvroomshroom

But not Tom and Jerry this time

Because they're participating

_W__**e**__'__**r**__e __**W**__H__**A**__T__**?**_

Because they're participating.

_**I**__n __**W**__H__**A**__T__**?**_

EVIL OVERLORD JEOPARDY, OF COURSE

_O**h **y**o**u **h**a**v**e **G**O**T** t**o** b**e** k**i**d**d**i**n**g..._

AND THE COMPETITORS ARE:

…

…

…

…where are our competitors?

_It's just us._

What? Why?

_**We, um, **_**eliminated **_**the other ones.**_

When?

_Like three hours ago when you first introduced us._

_**Obviously there can't be more than one Evil Overlord in the same place.**_

_Unless you count us as two different people._

_**But we're stuck together anyway.**_

Well, look. We can't play a game of Jeopardy if there's only one contestant.

_We would have slaughtered them anyway._

_**Your fault for getting such weakling competitors.**_

_Honestly._

Hey! No one but the Yu-Gi-Oh cast replied on such short notice!

_**You still **_**watch **_**that?**_

_What's Yu-Gi-Oh?_

I've actually never watched Yu-Gi-Oh. Just the Abridged version.

_**Oh.**_

_Well, they were stupid anyway. This one guy tried to kill me by summoning holograms from cards._

…What happened?

_Well, _OBVIOUSLY_, since they're _HOLOGRAMS_, they _PASSED RIGHT THROUGH ME.

I meant what did you do to him?

_I killed him. And dissolved his body in acid. Duh._

All right. Look. If I found better villains for you to compete against, would you at least bide your time for an hour trying to figure out the best way to eliminate them?

_**Well, I don't know where you'd find someone like that, but if they're strong enough that they take more than a bullet in the back to kill, then we don't have much of a choice, do we?**_

* * *

A/N: Tom and Jerry need your help! Do you have anything better than _Conperviate_? If you're on Tom's team, do something awesome or badass. If you're on Jerry's team, do something hilarious that will definitely leave Tom quite unamused.


	11. Support

WARNING: This is the last warning you're going to get about this story! Evil jokes lurk ahead! This also applies to the rest of this story! If you haven't figured out whether or not this story is too awful for you, I don't know what to say. I'm kind of running out of witty things to put up here. So. Blah blah blah Evil Overlords and crazy megalomaniac sociopaths. Try to keep up, and don't chicken out.

ALSO: I have a new story. Check it out on my profile.

* * *

BONUS #4

_The Life of Jerry, Part 2_

Life lesson number thirty: lead is disgusting.

Life lesson number thirty-one: you're still conscious for a few seconds after your chest and brain gets pumped full of the stuff.

Moral? Don't get yourself shot.

Now, it would have been nice to know BEFORE I went and got myself involved in that damned turf war. Looking back, maybe stepping into gunfire for the reacquisition of a few blocks of slum was not the greatest sacrifice. All that loss of blood and life, and for what? More pollution and rats than we need?

I suppose that having trash and rats to call your own is better than trash and rats that aren't. I never did ask Parker why those guys hated us anyway.

What? Oh, _fine_! I _didn't _die in a fire! Or a drug overdose! I got shot, happy?

Yeah, I lied. So what? Shut up.

* * *

_"#84. I will always forgive my enemies. Holding a grudge is unhealthy and causes poor decision-making, and besides, ingenious plots for revenge never end well. Consistently dishing out disproportionate punishment and abuse to the same people who coincidentally offended me in the past, on the other hand, requires no justification."_

Second year started out much like the first, and Tom was glad to see that all their work from the months prior hadn't completely unraveled all in the span of three months' absence. As far as he was concerned, people still knew and remembered him as they did before. Meaning, they all liked him on some degree. Sure, there were plenty of jealous types, but the important thing was that they never could _remain _jealous in his presence.

Everyone knows that one person in their life that no one can stay mad at.

Tom liked to take it a little step further and make people feel guilty every time they did get jealous of him, because he was just "poor little Tommy the orphan who always tries so hard to be liked and always helps other people and never brags and oh look at the rainbows and bunnies and flowers that spring up beneath his feet everywhere he walks."

_**You are so full of bullshit that sometimes I wonder if your anus is cleaner than your mouth.**_

_And whose fault is that?_

_**I don't know what you're talking about.**_

Other than that, there was little to be reported. According to Pomona, the bully that Tom had bullied was a misunderstood soul who simply had trouble accepting others' help to better him (Tom stopped caring immediately after "misunderstood"), and, according to Filius, Ravenclaw House was thinking of voting in Minerva and him as honorary members as a joke. Meanwhile, the great Black-Malfoy feud was still burning as hotly as ever, and the scramble for taking sides seemed to have spilled over to the non-Slytherin Pureblood families over the summer.

Same old, same old.

Well, maybe not the thing with the Ravenclaws, and his newfound disinterest in the Sorting (it seemed as though the only people who really cared about the Hat were the first-years and the Heads of House) was something he hadn't realized existed until now, but everything else hadn't changed. Tom simply put on a smile and welcomed every single poor kid that happened to end up in Slytherin with him.

Speaking of which, there seemed to be a lot of kids wanting to go to Slytherin this year, seeing as so many of them kept glancing at their table hopefully, and Tom swore to God he had no idea why. It wasn't as if he had taken advantage of the older students' lapse in attention due to the Black-Malfoy feud and filled the power vacuum by walking around making sure that every single first year knew his name, like he did the previous year…

Oh, wait! He _had_!

_**That's right. You **_**did**_**.**_

And he was going to do it the next year…and the next year…and the next…

And when he became a Prefect and Head Boy (because he totally was going to get that position, no doubt about it; he refused to have kissed all those teachers' arses for nothing) he would have an even better excuse to exploit all the networking powers he could get.

And then he'd masquerade as a cute and harmless little Hogwarts Professor while he secretly ruled the world…and he'd be remembered by every single student he ever had…

Gosh, and to think that they nearly forgot just how easy it was to make everyone love them.

_**Silly us.**_

_Silly us, indeed._

_**How sad. There goes an entire generation.**_

Finally, Professor Dumbledore stopped rattling off all the names, and Tom could finally eat in relative peace and quiet.

"So, how was your summer, Riddle?"

Tom had strategically positioned himself right between Orion and Dorea Black, but also facing right across from Abraxas Malfoy. He was offending Malfoy slightly by choosing to sit on Black's side rather than his, but then again, he was also a safe person to ask to pass the salt, since Malfoy would rather die than stoop to ask for help from a _Black_.

In the summer, the Malfoys and the Blacks were in two entirely different geographical locations, and on the train, they had the choice to sit in different compartments, so at least they didn't have to see each other. But here, neither of them had a choice.

There was a very obvious power structure highly visible based on the seating arrangements in the Slytherin side that had not been there before. Between the end near the doors to the Great Hall and the Head Table, it was like a highly elongated color gradient, but for influence instead.

Tom suspected that it had had something to do with the still ongoing power struggle. Normally, no one really cared where anyone sat – groups of friends just naturally claimed a spot for themselves, and the loners and stragglers filled in the gaps. But now, something about the "high" end of the table was all of a sudden considered "special". It didn't matter if Black had sat there first, and Malfoy, not to be outdone, also relocated there, or if Malfoy had been the one to declare the standard and Black had been the one to rise to the challenge. What mattered was that now _everyone _was scrambling and clawing their way up to the head of the table, and neither Black nor Malfoy would sink to move "down" a spot, even if there was more space and more comfortable seating by the social pariahs and first-years way in the back.

As for the rest of them, wanting to sit near the "head" end close to the teachers' table, few made it – you had to either be of exceptional bloodline, like all the heirs to the rich Pureblood families, or exceptionally sneaky, like Tom was. (After all, Malfoy and Black needed a younger student to act as their messenger since they were no longer speaking to each other, and not _any _second-year would do.)

The point was, Malfoy and Black both absolutely _had _to sit at the same end of the table – any movement away from there was akin to surrender, or at least self-demotion.

Stupid Purebloods and their stupid rules. Weren't Gryffindors supposed to be the proud ones? Oh, well. Perhaps the cunning thing to do really was to fight it out silently like this. Better than hexing each other in the halls – which Tom was pretty sure would happen soon, sometime this year, because with tension levels as high as they were right now, someone was going to end up snapping.

Tom was keeping a pool with Jerry on whether it would be Orion Black or Abraxas Malfoy to make the first offensive move.

_**See, Orion Black seems to be the more temperamental of the two…**_

_But Malfoy is the more prideful one. He acts all cold and cool, but he's really not. He doesn't have very many buttons that you can press, but the ones that you _can_…dear lord, it's like he just saves all of his anger for that one moment._

_**But Orion can count on his cousins and brothers to back him up. Malfoy isn't going to attack Black as long as he remembers that.**_

_I really, really, _really _want to see Malfoy snap, though. Surely his performance will be so much more spectacularly violent than Orion Black's. With that stick shoved so far up his arse, he's just absolutely _asking _to be trashed._

The more, the merrier. At least, for Tom.

He would have to ensure that great Malfoy-Black feud exploded sometime this year, since Abraxas was a seventh-year and would be graduating, and Tom would be damned if he didn't get to see it all come to a close when he was the one who had started it.

"Quite well, and you?" Tom replied, noting how Orion Black's nose scrunched up every time Abraxas Malfoy chose to ignore him when asking for things from across the table. Meanwhile, he could see Edmond Lestrange's face getting redder and redder. Neither Black nor Malfoy paid any attention to him, but Tom understood why he was getting so angry.

In terms of the family name, the Lestranges were on par with the Blacks and the Malfoys. The fact that Black and Malfoy were having their own little duel of dominance right there in front of them, and not including him, was insulting to him. Of course, they weren't doing it on purpose to be rude – Edmond Lestrange was only twelve, much too young and inexperienced to get caught up in something like this. Had he been closer in age to them, it was very likely that he would have been dragged into the center of this mess as well.

But he wasn't, and so he sulked like a petulant child.

Tom leaned back and observed the fruits of his masterful handiwork.

"As well as it could have ever been, I suppose," he griped.

"That's good," Tom responded, falsely cheerfully.

"A nice summer, Riddle?" Lestrange, finally having run out of patience for Black and Malfoy, asked loudly. His talent for always being completely unable to read the atmosphere and intercepting important conversations at the wrong moment had struck yet again. "But you haven't got any parents, have you?"

At that point, the conversation stopped within their small group. Tom froze, his dinner knife still digging into the heart of whatever it was that was sitting on his plate.

_**What.**_

_What._

_**No. **_**What**_**.**_

_Exactly. _WHAT_._

Malfoy and Black were shooting Lestrange confused looks, as their silent conversation (which was composed completely of glares, sneers, and ignoring one another like the spoiled aristocrats they were) had had nothing to do with Tom.

Well. It _had_. They _had _asked him about his summer and all. But it wasn't really about _Tom_, Tom knew. They were just making a point – "I would rather talk to this second-year half-blood orphan than _you_."

A point which had flown completely over Lestrange's head.

"Excuse me, Lestrange?" Tom asked. "Can you repeat that? I'm afraid I wasn't listening."

"I _said_," Lestrange, being the imbecile he was, answered him, "you haven't got any parents, _have you_, Riddle?"

_**Oh –**_

_No –_

_**He –**_

_DIDN'T!_

_**He did NOT just go there!**_

_Talk about offensive._

_**I know, right? I mean, does he **_**really**_** consider "you have no parents" a witty insult?**_

_Now that's an insult to Slytherins. Why the hell is he sitting here again? Oh, right – because none of the other Houses would take him. But hey – better no parents than no friends. I can't help the fact that I have no parents, and I guess he's just compensating for the fact that he has no friends._

_**Ooooh…that was **_**harsh**_**.**_

_But true, right?_

_**Well. You don't have any friends, either.**_

_But I have people who _think _they're my friends, and they think_ I'm_ their friend, and that's all that really matters._

_**True.**_

_Seriously, though. I'm an orphan, and he just brought up my _parents_. Did _his_ parents never teach him about social taboos? Because that little bastard is going to pay. _

_**Oh, definitely.**_

_And I mean big time. I am going to gut him so hard that he'll still be swinging from the rafters of the Great Hall in June._

_**Now just how are we going to humiliate him?**_

_Relax; I have this covered._

"I'm sorry, can you say that just one more time?" Tom asked him, which _really _riled Lestrange up.

Frustrated at Tom's lack of reaction, Lestrange yelled as loudly as he could, "I _said_, HOW DID YOU HAVE A FUN SUMMER IF YOU HAVEN'T GOT ANY PARENTS, RIDDLE?"

Yeah, that hadn't been such a great decision on his part.

Because it was at that exact moment that everyone chose to stop talking, so Lestrange's voice carried unnaturally loudly across the Great Hall.

Or, maybe, it could have been that Tom had secretly amplified Lestrange's voice under the table so that it carried all across the din.

Just maybe.

Whatever it was, _everyone _heard Lestrange's jibe against Hogwarts' most talented student.

Normally, Tom didn't let people know when someone had insulted him. But Lestrange's comment about him having no parents was just so – _bad _– _really_, they were already twelve; didn't he have anything more creative? – that he just _had _to let everyone know.

Certain types of insults – the smart, witty, darkly cutting-edge ones – carried you far in life.

Others simply dragged you down with them.

Poor Lestrange hadn't been able to distinguish between the two types of insults yet. He just thought that a cruel remark was a cruel remark and none of them had any different result from the other. He just didn't realize the sort of damage a wrongly worded phrase to the wrong person could do to you.

Well, he was about to find out.

Lestrange wasn't the sharpest tool in the box, but he _was _smart enough to know that something was wrong, and that he just might have stepped a toe or five over the line, when the entire Great Hall silenced itself and literally every eye in the room swiveled over to him. Most of the students, save for some of Lestrange's dumber cronies (the smarter ones knew that they were supposed to be appalled like everyone else, since dead parents were just one of those things you didn't talk about) and all of the teachers, were staring at Lestrange in complete horror.

If anyone had excused Lestrange's general douchebaggery on the basis of his noble family name before, they certainly weren't _now_.

_Oh, yes. Mission complete._

"Mr. Lestrange," Professor Merrythought was the first to find words. "That was unacceptable."

"Insulting a fellow classmate, and one from your own house, no less," Professor Slughorn reprimanded him, and it was the first time Tom had seen the jolly smile disappear from his face. "That will be – "

_**Now, see, if you had been little Jimmy Two-Shoes from Nowhere, they wouldn't be acting so offended on your behalf.**_

_Then it's a good thing that everyone loves the very ground I walk on, isn't it?_

_**I actually feel kind of sorry for Lestrange.**_

_Well, _I_ don't._

_**Look, the little idiot doesn't know who he's dealing with. Had it been anyone else, he'd be the bad guy, but…**_

_He's dealing with _us_; I know. Maybe you're right. He's so obviously the victim in this case that it's not even funny. Well, maybe it is. To us, I mean._

_**But you can't have him hate you. He'll just cause trouble. Luckily, he's still too dumb to realize just how hard you've been playing him. You can't just throw the kid to the bottom of the social pyramid and leave him there! **_

_Are you actually taking the moral high ground here?_

_**What? No! You're supposed to dig a hole for him so deep that he comes out of the other side of the goddamned earth, where you'll be waiting for him to send him back through! You're supposed to milk this situation for all its worth! You've got to cripple him so badly that he'll never stand on his own ever again! And when he feels that all hope is lost, guess who the saint to help him up and bring him back to his former glory will be?**_

_Oh, gods._

_**Don't you realize how good it'll look for you when the whole school is shunning him, and you, **_**his victim**_**, are the only one who will even talk to him? He will worship the ground you walk on. I don't know about you, but something about having the sole heir to one of the richest and most influential families in the nation as your personal slave sounds pretty useful to me. **_

_Come on, can't we have Black or Malfoy instead? They're not as annoying._

_**Hey, everyone has to start somewhere. Right now, Lestrange is at the bottom of the pile. You can climb your way up to the likes of Black and Malfoy later. Materially, they're the same. **_

_But mentally…_

_Ugh. Fine._

"It's all right, honestly," Tom interrupted, before Slughorn could give Edmond Lestrange a detention in front of the whole entire school. (Did these old teachers not realize that disciplining a student in such a manner would only result in more trouble for the "victim"?) "So what if I don't have parents? I'm not offended by the truth."

Professor Slughorn stopped short.

Tom pulled at as much of his "heartwarming orphan" card as he could muster. "I never knew any of them, anyway, so it doesn't hurt to be reminded of them. What I do have is something that I wouldn't trade for the world." _**You're such a liar. **__Shut up. _"I have my friends. I have my magic. And I have Hogwarts. And that's how I can be happy even if I don't have a family like everyone else."

Needless to say, everyone was puking rainbows and sunshine after that one.

The teachers were all so distracted by Tom's little speech, though, that they forgot to give Lestrange a detention.

_**He is such a little bitch, isn't he?**_

_Ugh. I _know_. I wish we could just push him off the Astronomy Tower. He's such a little pain. Do we _have _to?_

_**Funny thing is, in a few years he'll be your craziest supporter. In fact, he already kind of is. He still hates you at times, but you can tell – it's because he's obsessed with you, kind of like how when a little boy likes a little girl he throws mud at her and pulls her pigtails to get her attention.**_

_Or rocks. Big, sharp rocks that leave permanently disfiguring scars on her face. Like in that one Chinese bedtime story you told me._

_**You still remember that one?**_

_It was funny until the ending. I can't believe the girl stayed with him. She was so stupid. But, it's a fairy tale. 99% of the princesses were stupid. I think I liked Hansel and Gretel the best because the girl was actually pretty smart. Even though the thing in the candy house was probably a hag and not a witch. _

_**I liked Little Red Riding Hood. The original, by Charles Perrault.**_

_What? That one's boring. It's basically the same thing, but without the hunter rescuing them._

_**Oh, no it's not. Trust me. It's not.**_

_What do you mean by that?_

_**Wait until you're sixteen or seventeen, and then come back and read it again. The original, full tale, in all its literary context.**_

_What…_

_**"And the wolf ate her up."**_

_So?_

_**There's more than one type of wolf.**_

_Well, of course…that's the whole point of different species…_

And, true to their predictions, Edmond Lestrange practically crawled over to Tom that night as they were readying for bed, begging for mercy and forgiveness and "I know we got off on the wrong foot so can we please start over?" and all that jazz.

"Of course, Edmond. There was no harm done. The past is in the past."

"All right, then. Hello. My name is Edmond Lestrange; let's be friends and I love you."

"Hello, Edmond Lestrange. My name is Tom Riddle, and I think you are creepy and pathetic, so if you would just go drown yourself in a pit of rotting Inferi that would be great. Just kidding! Of course we should be best friends forever. Just so you know, though, every time you see a mud puddle, you'll have to lie down across it so I can walk on top of you. I can't be getting my shoes dirty, after all. Actually – scratch that – everywhere I go, you'll have to prostrate yourself in my path so I don't share the same ground all the other plebians do. You're the most amazing person I know in my entire life, Eddie. I love you, too. Good night."

Okay, so it hadn't exactly gone that way, and Tom had been a tad bit more sophisticated and subtle in his dealing with Lestrange, but otherwise, their entire conversation had gone more or less along those lines. Minus the "I love you," because that was just disgusting, and Tom had had enough of puking rainbows for one day ever since that little speech defending Lestrange from Professor Slughorn's ire in the Great Hall.

Neither Malfoy nor Black had broken yet, but Tom decided that he would be able make do with Lestrange for now. One thing he loved about Lestrange was that he was like a battered wife. As long as you kept him helpless and detached from the rest of the world (and thus any chance of support), you could keep the cycle of abuse going on forever.

For people like Minerva, Filius, or Pomona, kindness was all you needed to keep them loyal. For a more problematic soul like Lestrange, you had to bounce back and forth between cruelty and flattery like a yo-yo. Lestrange wouldn't work for anything he felt he was already entitled to, so it was necessary to keep persuading him that he was worth it, but puff up his ego too much and he'd start stepping out of line again. Inflating and deflating a spoiled pureblood heir's head so that it maintained that rickety equilibrium of loyalty was a great deal of trouble, but it was also a good bit of fun, too.

It was a game that Tom was certainly good at.

Unfortunately for Lestrange, he was too inexperienced to see it (and, Malfoy and Black, still caught up in their selfish little game, were nowhere interested enough to bother to help him out, even if they _did _have the time). Hopefully, the time Tom was through with him, he would be too stupid to ever suspect Tom of anything ever again as well. Infatuation did funny things to one's decision-making choices.

Following that day, Tom couldn't be seen anywhere without Lestrange trailing him like a lovesick puppy. Tom supposed he deserved it. That whole slap-slap-sweet-talk routine had been going on for an entire year now, and that moment in front of the entire Great Hall had simply been the tipping point.

And with Lestrange, now that they were officially on the same side, came all of his other cronies, who had simply been bouncing back and forth between the two before that moment (since they hadn't been able to decide between the kid who was already a powerful person with lots of money and a kid who _would _be a powerful person with lots of money).

_**Told you he was in love with you.**_

_Aw, shucks, _really_?_

_**You need to work on your sarcasm.**_

_No shit, Sherlock?_

Tom wished he could force Lestrange to lie down and act like his literal doormat all the time. Alas, Professor Dumbledore and the rest of Hogwarts was watching, so Tom simply behaved generously and forgivingly, just like all those damned saints he hated learning about in Sunday school so much.

"That was a noble thing you did for Edmond Lestrange back there, Tom," Professor Dumbledore told him.

"I just didn't want him to hate me," Tom said, scratching the back of his head. "Back at the orphanage, whenever the matrons punished someone in front of everyone else, it always caused even more problems than it solved. I didn't want that to happen here."

"Ah, yes," Professor Dumbledore shook his head. "We adults always seem to forget that when dealing with children and each other. If only we remembered how we used to act in our schoolboy days, we would have solved so many different things much more quickly."

"I still don't like the fact that he got off without even a detention or a point deduction," Minerva sniffed. "He shouldn't ha' said those things to you, Tom. They were quite rude."

"Maybe, but I didn't let it hurt me any, so I don't feel hurt. That's what I always do when people say mean things to me. They're just words. They don't mean anything." Tom shrugged. "Like I said before, what he said was true, and there's no use being offended by the truth. The truth will always be there no matter how much you try to run from it, so you might as well embrace it." Tom stopped and sighed wistfully. "I know the teachers haven't punished him, but I don't think they need to at this point."

"Why not?" Minerva interjected indignantly.

"Well, punishment isn't supposed to be 'pain for pain'. It's supposed to teach a lesson. And I say Edmond Lestrange has already learned his lesson. Haven't you seen the way people treat him now?" Tom let his voice drop dramatically to a whisper. "No one wants to talk to him anymore. Even the other Slytherins are treating him like a complete disgrace, and Professor Slughorn is letting it happen on purpose – not because he's being mean, but because he feels the same way you do. It's ironic, really – I'm the one who should be the most offended, but right now I'm the least offended out of anyone in the school."

"I guess being ignored is a pretty hurtful thing to experience," Minerva mused. "I never really thought of it that way."

"I think Lestrange understands very well by now that what he said wasn't right," Tom told her nonchalantly. "I'm just hoping that this will all die down in a few days, and everyone will forget about it. Then we can just go back to normal. He doesn't show it, but Lestrange is really feeling very bad right now. That's part of the reason why I'm hanging out with him more – if you don't mind, that is. I'm just trying to show that I forgave him for his mistake, so everyone should, too."

"If everyone could forgive like you, Tom, there would be no need for such troubles in the first place," Professor Dumbledore concluded.

_**I think I'm going to cry. That was – that was so beautiful.**_

_I hate you, Jerry._

* * *

A/N: Regarding what Tom said about domestic abuse – despite the fact that he meant it as a cruel joke, it's actually a pretty important topic that more people should know about.

Domestic abuse isn't just physical – it also results in emotional trauma that results in a feeling of helplessness and dependence for the victim, hence the reason why about 90% of battered women (and men) are too scared or embarrassed to end the relationship. Many of them also try to make excuses for their abusive partners' behavior because it's hard admitting that you chose the wrong person, and also because the abusers often apologize after the fact, causing their victims to continue hoping that things will eventually get better, even when it's really just getting worse.

Tom thinks that his treatment of Lestrange is funny, but I purposely made his behavior akin to that of an abuser because the cruelty/kindness cycle is one of many classical techniques used to control people, and he knows it.

I personally think that the fact that he's using it to such effect at the age of eleven makes him that much scarier. How about you? Feeling sorry for Lestrange yet?


	12. Accomplishment

A/N: It has come to my attention that I can't do math. Tom was supposed to start school in 1938, not 1937. Stupid December 31st birthdays, throwing me off...oh well. We'll just pretend Tom was smart enough to start early.

P.S. Thanks for the 1000 followers, guys! Y'all rock! *not actually Texan

* * *

_"#42. There are many amazing teachers in this world who live only for their students and pass down all that they know. I will be no such teacher."_

Really, Tom hadn't forgiven Lestrange yet, and probably never would. Not because he was holding a grudge, but because he simply didn't _need _to. The whole "You have no parents!" thing didn't offend him as much as Lestrange simply _existing_.

Also, because he didn't _need _an excuse to be mean to Lestrange. He didn't need an excuse to be mean to anyone. He just liked to target Lestrange a little more than the rest because Lestrange had gotten extremely uppity ever since he had returned from his parents and home after the summer ended, and _someone _needed to hammer that nail down.

"Professor Slughorn!" Tom greeted cheerfully as they walked into Potions class. The rotund man immediately looked up from where he was bent over his smoking cauldron with a warm smile, but his expression became stony almost as soon as he saw Edmond Lestrange following him inside shortly after.

It had already been two entire months, and Lestrange had yet to see any repair to the damage done to his popularity. For one, though many of the teachers were considered "pureblood" in that they had been descended from witches and wizards for three generations or more, they were not the "noble purebloods" who would clearly recognize Lestrange for his family. Besides, they were _teachers._ They were required to treat students of all types and backgrounds fairly. As far as institutions in Magical Great Britain went, Hogwarts was one of the most open-minded and the closest to an ideal meritocracy as they would get. (Of course, considering that their competition was the Ministry of Magic, that wasn't saying much.) One thing was for sure – Headmaster Dippet and the rest of the staff would rather kick out a bullying, spoiled brat like Lestrange regardless of how rich he was (tuition was the same for everyone anyway), before they let go of an obvious budding talent like Tom.

Blood didn't matter to the teachers once you reached a certain level of talent, even if the jealous, self-entitled, proud heirs liked to think otherwise.

But for someone like Lestrange, who was rich enough that he wouldn't have to depend on teacher recommendations to get a job later in life anyway, such negative sentiment alone shouldn't have stopped him. Unfortunately for him, the roles of teachers were rarely so minor, especially when they were the _only _teachers in Magical Britain. It was their _influence _that spread far and wide – and any student smart enough to realize that associating with Lestrange would also bring them under their professors' watchful gaze (and that was pretty much everyone) did just the opposite.

Even his old friends, the cronies who always flocked around him, and the so-called "big bosses" in Slytherin House (that is, the older children who were also members of old, important families), were wary about being seen around him anymore. After all, not all of them were born into the lap of luxury like Lestrange was, so they might actually have a work ethic and a desire to please their teachers. Perhaps prejudice and cruelty still allowed them to associate with each other in private. But it wasn't exactly his actions, but the shameful results they brought on, that led to his dramatic decline.

Slytherin House didn't care about cruelty. It simply cared about keeping face. And Lestrange had lost it in front of the entire damn school, so he would pay accordingly.

He had no support system left, save for one – Tom himself. Tom was popular, and Tom was kind enough to weep for him. Crocodile tears, but he didn't know it. All he knew was that he had hit rock bottom, and would do anything it took to crawl back out of his pit again – and if that meant allying himself with Tom-the-penniless-half-blood-orphan (or, rather, serve Tom in a vassal-lord relationship, since he was the one begging for Tom's protection), so be it. His previous followers now looked to Tom as their new leader, all blood ties forgotten, and so he might as well join them. At least, by Tom's side, he wouldn't be alone, because the others desired to stand by Tom more than they desired to ignore him. And, as long as he was there, he could pretend that he was Tom's right hand man, and they were still his cronies, even if, really, he was still at the very bottom of the pecking order.

Really, it wasn't fair for Lestrange. He wasn't the first bully to make extremely stupid, politically incorrect comments.

It was just that he was the first to direct it at someone as popular as Tom. In front of the whole school. Teachers included. On the first day of school.

If it had been in front of students only, maybe people wouldn't have reacted as badly. But all the teachers were there, so of course as the mature adult figures they were required to deal with him accordingly. Even more so with a talented boy like Tom – they couldn't just abandon the poor little orphan to his fate when he had so much potential. And the rest of the school copied the teachers out of obligation.

Actually, if it had even been in the middle, or near the end of the school year, when everyone was just so _tired _and _done _with everything, from tests and grades and whatever, the teachers might have been more annoyed than outraged.

But, it was the first day of school, and everyone was nice and fresh and bright-eyed and bushy-tailed from an entire summer's worth of rest, and looking forward for school to start rather than end – and so they were all pretty much expecting a happy, wonderful, peaceful first day of school (barring the Malfoys and Blacks and anyone else involved). That Lestrange could be audacious enough to shatter that peace made his simple comment that much more of a crime.

All in Tom's favor. He could care less about his nonexistent parents, after all.

Tom's eyes met Minerva's across the room – it was pretty much a tradition by now for all the Gryffindors and Slytherins to be paired up during Potions class, every year – and he gestured at Lestrange with his chin, shrugging apologetically. She nodded understandingly, and went over to another girl from her House to partner with instead.

"But Minerva! Don't you normally work with Riddle, though?" asked her new partner, a rather round-faced girl named Augusta who was a fierce contender (not on his or Minerva's levels, but respectable enough) in Defense and Transfiguration, and a much more abysmal student when it came to Charms.

"He's working with Lestrange today," Minerva told her.

"_Lestrange? Him?_" Augusta gaped, and some of the others who were also innocently listening in on the gossip did, too. "But didn't he - ?"

"It's his decision. You know Tom. He's always trying to make friends with everyone," Minerva said. "This is just his way of making amends with Lestrange."

"But Lestrange was the one that started it!" Augusta protested. "Not him!"

"I know. But Tom told him himself that he really wasn't hurt by it. Now think. It's been two months and everyone's still treating Lestrange poorly because of that. Which – I mean, I'm still angry about it – but Tom says he isn't, and it's his decision in the end, right?" Minerva asked. "Anyway, people who start out as enemies can become friends later, and right now all Tom wants to do is stop the fighting. He might as well be the one to take the first step."

_**Look at you, being painted as a saint already.**_

_Didn't we make this clear weeks ago?_

_**Yes, but we've never been able to hear such a masterful dissection of your character in person before.**_

_A "masterful dissection"?_

_**You know, like when English majors pick apart major works and find all sorts of symbols in there, some of which were intended by the author, and some of which they just completely pulled out of their own asses.**_

Tom disguised his snort as a cough.

"Well, he _is _a masterful peacemaker," Augusta admitted. "Imagine that! Him forgiving Edmond Lestrange before the rest of us! If _I _was in his place, I'd hold that grudge for the rest of Hogwarts, and then some!"

"Not all of us can be like him," Violet Brown sighed wistfully out of the blue.

_**Oh, god. Another one.**_

_Another what?_

_**Pay attention. Slughorn's talking.**_

_He's reviewing a bunch of Potions properties that we know already. We don't have to pay attention to anything!_

_**Yeah, well…just pay attention.**_

_You are so weird._

**You're **_**the one with me in your head.**_

_That doesn't even make sense! How is that my fault?_

"I know," Krishna Patil sighed. "He's just so _perfect_."

_**Stop! Pay attention!**_

_Why are you laughing so much?_

_**No reason. I'm weird and crazy.**_

_What?_

"Does everyone have their partners? Yes? Why is there an extra person? There wasn't one last class – is someone ill? – oh, never mind, there are two of you. Well, why don't you come to the middle?" Slughorn asked a lone Gryffindor and a lone Slytherin impatiently. They both grunted and moved to the last empty table in the front. "That's odd," Slughorn was mumbling. "We didn't have this problem last class."

"I'm sorry, sir," Tom spoke up timidly. "I didn't mean to mess anything up – normally Minerva and I work together – but today we thought we'd change partners a little, so I'm going with Lestrange and…well, I didn't realize it would switch it up so much – "

Slughorn was blinking confusedly at the image of Tom Riddle and Edmond Lestrange suddenly working together. Then, he finally shook his head, shrugged, and turned back to the board.

Edmond blinked back at Tom gratefully, his eyes so full of simpering devotion that it took all of Jerry's persuasive skills _**(Dammit, Tom, don't let **_**this**_** idiot, of all things, make you blow your cover!) **_to keep him from grabbing Lestrange by the back of his greasy Pureblood head and shoving him face-first into the already boiling cauldron. That didn't stop him from messing up their potion on purpose while Lestrange wasn't paying attention and then loudly blaming it on Lestrange so Slughorn knew just exactly who was to blame for his sub-par performance.

"Watch out, Lestrange, you're putting the crushed horns in a little too quickly!"

"I – what? But – "

(Silent mind-wipe.)

"Oh – I'm sorry – "

"It's no big deal. It might reduce the effectiveness of the potion in the end, but it won't destroy it. Normally I'd start over, but we don't have the time today…"

After all, Tom's grade was high enough, and grade points in school didn't matter anyway. He could take that hit for one day. Lestrange, not so much. A lot of Potions grading was subjective after a certain point, and Tom knew for a fact that Lestrange was being measured to a much harder scale than the rest of them (which was why he usually had to settle for Bulstrode, the dumbest kid in class – either Bulstrode didn't understand the repercussions of partnering with _Lestrange? THAT Lestrange? _or he just didn't care, because either way he was going to be getting a Troll).

Even though this was a partner exam, Tom knew that Slughorn was going to be secretly giving them different grades out of sight.

So when they turned in their end result, and Slughorn frowned at Tom sympathetically, Tom simply smiled back and shrugged. After all, when he partnered with Lestrange _again _the next week, he'd just look like even more of a saint.

The important thing was, Slughorn was thoroughly convinced that he was the best thing to ever appear on the earth since mulled ginger ale (whatever that was) following that "disastrous" Potions partnership.

"Tom, are you all right with working with Mr. Lestrange?" he asked. "You realize that your grades are suffering now that you are no longer working with Minerva."

"It's all right, sir," Tom said respectfully. "As long as I'm learning Potions, I don't care if Edmond makes a few mistakes. It's perfectly human."

"Yes, yes it is," Slughorn hemmed and hawed, stroking at his moustache. "Well, if you ever want to change partners back, you're perfectly welcome to…"

"Of course, sir. Actually…I have something else to ask you."

"Ask away, m'boy."

"About Occlumency…" Tom looked down, folded his hands behind his back, shuffled his feet, and wibbled his lower lip. _**I'm so proud of you. That was perfect.**_ "I spent the summer reading the books you gave me, and I finished them…I know you said that most people don't start until later, but I was wondering…"

"Finished them? Already? Did you finish all the exercises, too?" Slughorn asked, surprise evident in his voice.

"I think I did. Do you think you can test me? I – I mean, if you don't have time, it's all right; I can wait, because I don't need this right away, and all your other students are more important, but – if you can – "

"If I can? Of course I can!" Slughorn puffed out his chest pridefully. "Good Merlin, Tom, a second-year already learning Occlumency? Oh, you were right in not telling anyone; the other teachers would simply turn green with furious envy. Come back to my office at five, later tonight. I need to make sure that you're as ready as you say before we actually start. Occlumency is a tricky business, Tom…a tricky business indeed…"

…_**That was too easy.**_

_Because I'm amazing._

_**That wasn't egotistical at all.**_

_I'm the most powerful wizard to set foot in these walls since forever. I think I'm entitled to _some _self-gratification, seeing as we're playing down about 50% of our true abilities._

_**True. Hey – you're getting to learn Occlumency, aren't you? Slughorn's just so proud of you that he doesn't realize the implications of your uber-powerfulness.**_

_Is that even a word?_

_**Please don't become a Grammar Nazi. They are mere details in the life of an Evil Overlord.**_

_What if I'm giving orders and someone misinterprets them because I said it incorrectly? _

_**I'm not talking about double negatives; I'm talking about "who" and "whom" and "uber OP". You're not going to walk into Harlem spouting eighteenth-century Brit Lit, are you?**_

_I suppose not._

"Thank you so much, Professor Slughorn!" Tom gushed enthusiastically.

"Oh, no problem, no problem at all, Tom. Now you better hurry and get down to lunch; your friends are waiting for you. You're simply amazing, Tom; did you know that? Never before have I seen any student become such good friends with members from all four Houses…"

"Professor!" Tom exclaimed, forcing himself to blush.

"I shouldn't tease you anymore, Tom…Now off you get! I have papers to grade!" Slughorn chuckled.

"Goodbye, sir!"

The door clicked shut.

_**You are so bad.**_

_We both are, aren't we?_

That night, as promised, Tom showed up at Professor Slughorn's office door and knocked quietly (because nice people always knock quietly).

"Professor Slughorn? It's me."

Slughorn swung the door open, his voluminous body blocking out the light from inside completely. Tom masked a frown and hoped that he would never achieve that level of opaqueness in his life, ever. "Ah, Tom, my boy, do come in!"

"So you said that you'd test me a bit?"

"Yes, yes. Well, can you tell me a bit about what you learned in terms of safety procedures…"

So Tom simply rattled off all the answers word-for-word from the book. Always practice with an already accomplished, skilled indiviual. Don't attempt Legilimency before Occlumency. Practice building up your mental defenses and your meditation abilities before you try anything. When learning, start slowly instead of diving in right away – a proper teacher should make sure that you can withstand a faint tickle at the surface before blocking out an invasion with the intention of digging up older memories.

"Very good," Professor Slughorn nodded, listening intently. "Now, can you show me your first meditation form?"

Tom did as asked, crossing his feet and placing his hands in his lap. Professor Slughorn went through about three more forms with him before deeming him fit for the next step, which was clearing his mind.

Barring Jerry, Tom had no trouble wiping all traces of thought from his head. He had done this multiple times before, when he was falling asleep but not asleep yet, and there was nothing of value to concentrate on save for his own heartbeat and the presence of his ever-helpful alter ego. At the moment, Jerry had ceased all conversation, and was waiting in tense anticipation for Slughorn to start the first stage of mind-probing.

That was the proper way to learn Occlumency – the teacher was not allowed to move on until the student had mastered the "pre-test" – the clearing of the mind.

And, apparently, according to Slughorn's amazed reaction, this was supposed to be an incredibly difficult thing to accomplish – in fact, probably the _most _difficult wall to climb.

"Why, that's simply astounding, Tom. When you – when you said that you had completed the first step, I merely thought that you were only partially progressed…not that I doubt your talent, but without a reference sometimes we think that we have done something correctly when it is incomplete, like that time before I became a Potions master and was a mere apprentice, and _thought _I understood Garthawn's Laws when I really only skimmed the surface…" he rambled, "but _dear Merlin_, I've never seen a mind so excellently cleared since – well, since _never_. I've only taught two other students, and they both took until their seventh year to actually seem confident that they have what is described as an 'empty mind', and even _then _I had to help them…but you – you say you've only been working on this for one summer? Dear Lord, Tom, at this rate you'll be done before the first semester is over! Why I never…"

Tom didn't understand any of this at all. The amazement, not the actual concept.

_**Well, to be fair, you could do nonverbal, wandless magic before Hogwarts…**_

_But still! This is just "clearing your mind"! How hard can it be?! He's acting like I'm the Saviour of the World or something! _Tom ranted. _Muggles meditate all the time! Literally – you think of nothing at all. I know for a fact that half of my classmates are completely capable of that!_

_**Well, not really. Just because they're not thinking of useful things doesn't mean they're not thinking.**_

_All right. Well. I guess they think of – what do kids think of?_

_**You're a kid.**_

_But I don't think of – whatever they think of. Friends, and social anxieties, and games, and food, maybe? They're so simplistic. They're disgusting._

_**I suppose so.**_

_Is it really _that _hard to think of nothing?_

_**Well – there **_**are **_**philosophical theories saying that it literally **_**is **_**impossible for the human mind to comprehend the true meaning of zero and death. I mean, can you imagine being dead?**_

_I suppose not. We always think of – ghosts and things. Of still being there._

_**Yes, but we can't think of being nonexistent. Because once we think of that, we're no longer nonexistent.**_

_Then I don't plan to die. At least not for a very, very long time. Maybe when the Sun blows up and I've exhausted all of my modes of entertainment, I'll consider it._

_**That's a long way off, Tom.**_

_But back to meditation. Thinking _nothing _isn't the same as thinking _of _nothing._

_**Well – you don't really think about nothing at all, do you? You have an advantage over everyone else.**_

_What do you mean?_

_**You have me.**_

_Excuse me?_

_**I notice – when you "clear your mind", you just forget everything else and focus solely on **_**me**_** – which produces the same result as you "clearing your mind" the "proper" way, because you can't get rid of me. I'm not one of your random thoughts, but I'm still a part of your mind – and, as long as I'm quiet, Slughorn won't notice me, because he's focusing on finding thoughts and memories, not alter egos.**_

_I suppose you're right. But if that's the case, then how _do _people clear their minds the "proper" way? Is that even possible? _

_**I'm guessing that they actually just think of a symbol **_**of **_**nothing, since clearing your mind completely is impossible. Your brain is always working. Otherwise, your organs would shut down and you'd **_**die**_**. But in terms of extraneous, non-survival-related items…I don't know. I honestly don't know. Philosophers and psychologists have argued this for centuries and they aren't any closer to the answer today than when the ancient Greeks were alive. **_

_So what _do _they think of? The number zero? Outer space? A giant black canvas? I suppose they just let something completely and utterly meaningless flood their mind, and that's as close to zero as they'll get._

_**Well – more like something you **_**personally **_**consider meaningless.**_

_What do you mean?_

_**I don't consider outer space meaningless. I happen to like astronomy – if I thought of outer space, my mind would stray to things like supernovae and exoplanets and quasars and black holes and all that good stuff. So that particular method won't work for me. But for someone who never studied astronomy, they might find it boring enough that it would work. Or for a mathematician and philosopher – the number zero might generate a great deal of craziness. And an artist might find a black canvas interesting.**_

_Since I'm using _you _as my base thought instead of an actual blank canvas, does that mean that you happen to be the most exceptionally meaningless and boring of them all?_

…

…_**Ouch. **_

_Ha ha._

…_**That was actually a really good one.**_

_You were asking for it. _

_**I suppose I was.**_

_But back to that previous point. Are you saying that people normally take so long to learn how to properly meditate because they are unable to find a base form of some sort?_

_**Look – I'm not a monk, or some feng shui specialist. People probably do have ways to properly "clear" their minds. But yes – it takes a while to get it right. Why don't you ask Slughorn how "normal" people do it?**_

"Um, Professor Slughorn?" Tom asked meekly, now that the man had finished heaping praises upon Tom. "I – well, why did it take so long for your other students? How do _you _clear your mind, sir? I read that experienced people can do it at a moment's notice, so…"

"Well, you see, Tom," Professor Slughorn said, "there are multiple ways to go about doing it. Everyone must find their own way. The problem is, usually, at a young age, most children don't have the mental discipline – not that it's a bad thing. They are simply more – imaginative – active – than others. So it is more difficult to get rid of those stray thoughts."

"How do _you_ do it, sir?" Tom asked.

"I actually have a little shortcut. It's not _cheating_, because it isn't one hundred percent emptying my thoughts, but it works," Professor Slughorn explained. "Most people use this method. But I just simply choose a single, extremely simplistic thought, and focus on that. Usually, I just think of a blank, black room with nothing inside of it. The inside of a box, if you will. It still takes a great deal of effort to _hold _it there before the mind starts straying, of course – I certainly had trouble learning as a young man – but now that I am more experienced, it has become second nature."

_**I totally called it.**_

_Shut up, you smug bastard._

_**Language!**_

_Look who's talking!_

_**Both of us!**_

_Ugh. You are insufferable._

"I've never seen anyone _truly _clear their mind, to be honest – until you. Really! I couldn't find _anything_. Even the most talented Occlumens have _something _that they focus on. But your mind was perfectly blank. Unless…but Tom, do you really think of something? How do you do it?"

"…I…" Tom said slowly. "…I don't know. The book just said 'clear your mind' so I…just…did as it asked. I thought of nothing."

_**Am I really nothing to you? I thought – I thought what we had was **_**real**_**!**_

_OH MY GOD, Jerry!_

* * *

BONUS #5

_The Cover Art Request_

The cover art things are finally in!

_Took you long enough._

Hey - it wasn't _my _fault, all right? To the artists - thank you for responding, and sorry it took me until now to make it public. Every time one was turned in, a new person would message me saying they had another one :3 I feel so popular!

**_Compensating for real life, much?_**

Hey - unlike you, I actually have friends. Now do you want to see them or not?

_I guess...?_

URLs are below (or, if you're too lazy to type since this site doesn't allow copy/paste anymore, links are in my profile). hypertext transfer protocol = http colon slash slash, world wide web = www dot, delete all spaces, we know the drill.

**eggstraeggstra (Ghost!Jerry) - (hypertext transfer protocol) photo bucket (dotcom) /user/eggstraeggstra/media/sketch2_zpscoewuiob. png. html**

**Helvetica Black (Hero Fiennes-Tiffin) - (world wide web) box (dotcom) /s /kqxs0vfigto4kitwyqa1wp86s91668lh**

**0bananas0 (Cat&amp;Mouse) - (hypertext transfer protocol) postimg (dotorg) /image/5her1pt4t/a8ddfa49/**

**pimasta314 (Illuminati) - (hypertext transfer protocol) pimasta314. deviantart (dotcom) /art/Cover-submission-514542436**

_Wow! These are all so _amazing_! Even I couldn't draw that well when I was five._

Hey! People actually worked really hard on these.

_I suppose you now want us to pick the best one? Because I'm having trouble finding the least ugly -_

Shut up, Tom. They're all very well drawn. And since _you're _not cooperating, I've decided to put it up to a reader's vote instead.

_What? You value _their _judgment over mine? They're total plebians!_

Pick your favorite cover by putting either the artist or the title in the comments!

**_Alternatively, as it has been pointed out to us, keeping the cute bunny is also an option._**


	13. Generosity

BONUS #6

_Poll Results_

_**You know, Tom, I've noticed that public opinion is very interesting.  
**_

_Stupid, more like.  
_

_**Come on, at least pretend to be happy. PR, man! PR!  
**_

_Fine..._"All of you guys worked really really hard and these pictures are all really awesome and well-done! We had a hard time choosing any one of them, so we let you guys choose for us! Once again, thanks for participating!"

_...Turns out none of you were good enough to beat a stock photo of a bunny from the internet, but we'll keep the links to your artwork on boomvroomshroom's profile._

_**Be nice! Think of the PR!**_

_But they're fourth-wall viewers. They already know that I'm evil. I might as well milk it for all its worth. You'd think that people who have already read this far would enjoy the snark._

_**True enough.**_

Bunny: 24

Helvetica Black (Hero): 13

eggstraeggstra (Ghost): 13

0bananas0 (Cat/Mouse): 5

pimasta314 (Illuminati): 5

* * *

_"#275. Whatever abuse I heap onto my followers, I will make sure to dish out a reasonable amount of praise at random intervals as well. Not only will that confuse potential defectors so they can't decide if they are being treated unfairly enough to try to escape or not, but also constantly keep my followers motivated since they know reward is possible."_

"That…is interesting. That is _very _interesting," Professor Slughorn murmured, stroking his moustache. "I think we'll be expecting great things from you in the future, Mr. Riddle. That's it for today. Come back next week, same time…We'll start the first real test then. And then after you master the basics, we can start working on special techniques like mental layering and all that…have you read about it yet, Tom?"

"Is it when a person can use many insignificant, irrelevant, or false memories to distract an intruder?" Tom asked.

"Yes, yes. Exactly," Professor Slughorn puffed out his chest proudly.

"I have a few _ideas _on what to use, theoretically, but I'm not quite sure how to apply them yet," Tom told him. "Anyway, I think I'll just focus on mastering the most basic forms right now. I'm just doing this to learn more things, and I don't want to put myself – or you – in any unnecessary danger or trouble just because I couldn't learn to be patient."

This only made Professor Slughorn beam even more. "Well, that is absolutely correct, Tom! And, I must say, a very mature statement. At this rate that you're going, however, I highly doubt you'll have to wait long to get to that stage. Perhaps in the next few weeks we'll work on simply _blocking _an intruder. You'll have mastered that in about a month or two, I think. Normally, it would take people longer, but you're already so far ahead in just clearing your mind. Hm. Yes, once you've mastered _blocking _you can get to actually actively_ confusing _a potential intruder. Do you know why this is more advantageous than merely blocking them?"

"Because when you just block someone, they know you're hiding something, and if they're strong enough they'll keep looking?" Tom asked, pretending like he was unsure of his answer, and then continued at Professor Slughorn's affirmative nod. "But if you just feed them a false memory, they'll just think that they already found what they came for, and they won't look any further, and you'll be safe for the time being?"

Professor Slughorn puffed out his chest in pride. "Exactly!" He cheerfully poured himself another glass of alcohol and took the opportunity to glance at the clock. "Well, it is getting late, Tom. You should leave quickly now or you won't make curfew! I would hate to see a star student get in trouble simply because of this. Ah – hang on…just to be safe…" He grunted and began rummaging around in his desk drawers for some paper and a pen. "I'll write you a note. Just in case you don't make it back to the dormitories in time. I'll just say we were talking and I lost track of time…no one can fault you for _that_, Tom…I know my own faults very well, and one of them happens to me my tendency to yap on about the silliest things…"

_No, REALLY?_

Jerry shrugged apologietically.

Slughorn was still talking. "If only I could tell other people about this, Tom! You'd be famous all over the country – no, all over the world! I don't think you understand how magnificent this accomplishment is…a near-perfect Occlumens at age twelve after only one summer of self-study…but maybe it's not such a good idea, after all. People would get jealous. It wouldn't be safe for you anymore. You might get hurt. No, maybe being famous at twelve is not as good as it sounds. Being famous, in general, is not worth it. It's why I'm here, as a Potions professor in a little school, instead of traveling the world…but maybe, when you're older, you can tell these stories with less repercussion, yes…"

_Um, Jerry?_

_**Yes?**_

_What are we going to do about him?_

_**Slughorn?**_

_Maybe we overestimated his secret-keeping abilities. He looks ready to burst._

_**Hmmm…I guess we **_**are **_**jumping into this a little quickly.**_

_Should we wipe his memory?...only, then we'd have to start over…and I want to get this Legilimency business over with so that we can get back to other things._

_**Don't wipe the memory exactly, but just compel him to "forget". And add some secret-keeping Compulsion charms to him.**_

_Do you think it will work?_

_**It's our best shot. Look – once we master this to the point where we no longer need a teacher, we can mind-wipe him for good.**_

_All right._

(Professor Slughorn was still muttering blindly to himself when they walked out.)

They continued this method of training with Professor Slughorn – walk in for an hour-long private session, spend about half of that time listening to Slughorn singing psalms about him, and then modify his memory so that he'd forget all about it, and simply "remind" him of where he had progressed to (or rather, that there had even been progress in the first place) at the next class. In this way, he could keep the man clueless enough not to brag to someone he considered "trustworthy", without having to start over at every session.

Over the course of the next few months, Tom's Occlumency lessons with Slughorn progressed quite smoothly. Well, as smoothly as one could get, with Lestrange badgering him about where he was going every night.

"Where _were _you, Riddle?" he would demand, hands on hips, with a tinge of worry in his eyes. "We missed you. You didn't have any trouble with any of – "

It was at moments like this that Tom regretted that he still had to cater to Lestrange's little insecurities. Honestly. He preferred the annoying, snotty little brat that absolutely hated him to this new, equally aggravating and arrogant little worm who worshipped the ground he walked on. At least the previous one left him alone sometimes. This version of Lestrange was like some psychotically attached girlfriend. There was no way he could ever meet anyone worse.

_**Tempting fate, are you?**_

_Oh, god no._

"For your _information_, Lestrange," Tom turned up his nose, and Lestrange, sensing that Tom the God of All Things Holy was not pleased with him, cringed, "I do not need to justify everything I do at every second of the day to _you_." He smirked as he watched Lestrange's attitude backtrack almost immediately.

"I am so sorry – I was merely concerned for your wellbeing – "

Tom shot him a dangerous glare, but on the inside, reveled at this opportunity to continue twisting Lestrange's words. Rule number one in the Court of Riddle is that anything you say can and will be used against you. "Are you implying that I am incapable of taking care of myself?"

"No – of course not – I would never _dare _– "

"What sort of trouble do you think I would be 'running into', anyway?" Tom asked him.

Lestrange's eyes grew wide. "Nothing; nothing at all!"

"Don't lie to me, and don't _ever _try to hide _anything _from me," Tom hissed at him, seemingly getting angry for no apparent reason whatsoever.

"Well – it's just that – " Lestrange, once again, was showcasing his uncanny ability to magically dig himself a deeper grave even when he was already in one. "I – you see – I – well, I couldn't help but notice that you _continue _to spend time with – well, with that Gryffindor half-blood, McGonagall, and the half-goblin, Flitwick, and that Hufflepuff – "

"Are you suggesting that I am incapable of choosing my own friends?" Tom asked. "Or do you suddenly consider yourself the director of my associates?"

"No – I would never dare be so presumptuous – "

"Then _what is the matter_, Lestrange?" Tom snapped.

"I – but they are _half-blood _– "

"That was apparent; do you think I'm so stupid I can't determine simple fact for myself?"

"No – not at all – "

"If you haven't noticed, Lestrange, _I'm _half-blood."

"But you're…_different_!"

"Really? Am I? I seem to remember that both Filius and Minerva – " Tom smirked at Lestrange's wounded expression at the fact that he was on first-name terms with those "inferiors" and not him – "are beating you in almost every single class. Scratch that, _every _single class. Even Potions. And Slughorn is our Head of House."

"Riddle, _please _– "

"Thanks, Ed. You're the greatest friend anyone could ever ask for."

_**I never thought pretending to be bipolar could ever be so funny.**_

"_Please _– wait, what?" Lestrange's face had twisted from absolute anguish to extreme confusion.

"I am very lucky, to have someone who cares so much about me. If you must know, I was actually only speaking with Professor Slughorn, but thank you for your concern," Tom said sweetly, flashing Lestrange his most brilliant smile and patting his cheek. (To the non-infatuated mind, that was condescension; to Lestrange, it was a display of affection, and he responded accordingly, like a lovesick puppy – and _god _how Tom hated puppies.) "You are simply _amazing_ Ed; did you know that? Simply _amazing_."

"Oh. Well. Thank you, Tom."

"No problem. Now get out."

"Wait – what?"

The poor thing just looked _so _confused.

Maybe having Lestrange around wasn't so bad after all. He certainly couldn't get away with doing that with Minerva or Filius or Pomona or, god forbid, Professor Dumbledore. And the Blacks and Abraxas Malfoy were all just so caught up in their own little world that Tom couldn't be bothered to deal with them just yet. But poor little Edmond Lestrange was just so perfectly clueless and vulnerable that he just couldn't help but take advantage of him. Sure, he could just as easily take out his frustrations on Lestrange's little cronies, but where was the fun in that? Lestrange was the most "prestiged" out of all of them, which only made the satisfaction Little Orphan Tommy got from picking him apart that much better. Besides, none of them had such entertaining reactions. They all just crawled about around him, mostly. Lestrange was the only one bold (and stupid) enough to deal with him directly.

Really, he should have known better. Poking around at Tom Marvolo Riddle, _honestly_. He deserved all that Tom was dishing out to him, and then some. The Hogwarts motto, as stupidly phrased as it was, was still an extremely powerful statement that more people unfortunately (or fortunately for Tom) did not pay attention to. If some idiot decided to go poke a dragon in the nose with a stick it was his own damn fault for getting roasted alive.

_Never tickle a sleeping dragon_.

Like wizards didn't have that sort of common sense.

Then again, they probably _didn't_.

After all, why _else _would they have _second-year _students handling something as potentially fatal as _Mandrakes _of all things? Tom _knew _that making a sound-cancelling charm was not a difficult concept – but they didn't teach it until about fourth year. So why were they grubbing around in the dirt with _earmuffs_ of all things? He knew for a fact that Professor Root and Professor Knowley were good friends who did everything together, including (probably) planning their class schedules. Was it really _that _hard to teach kids a new spell before the Mandrake thing, or just move the Mandrake thing up to fourth year? Or, better yet, Professor Root could just teach them himself, and spare them the trouble. He was a qualified teacher. Surely he could do a simple Sound-Cancelling charm around all of their ears.

But _noooo_, they were relying on earmuffs that didn't even come with adjustable size straps.

That the Slytherins were doing this lesson with the Hufflepuffs wasn't making this any better. At least Pomona had chosen the seat across from him (Lestrange and one of the Selwyn cousins were fighting over who got to sit in the only seat next to him, since he was at the end of the table right in front of the teacher and neither of them could be bothered to swallow their pride and associate with the Hufflepuffs). Even though she wasn't as amazing as Minerva or Filius in anything requiring a wand, she actually knew her stuff when it came to Herbology.

Maybe a little _too _well.

"Oh, isn't this so exciting?" Pomona was asking him, like they _weren't _dealing with a potentially lethal exercise. "Mandrakes! They're very powerful plants, you know!"

"Yes, they are," Tom agreed halfheartedly. _Anything that can kill me before I'm immortal is "exciting", I suppose…why is Hogwarts the "safest place in Britain" again?_

_**In Hogwarts, you are safe from outside attacks…not Hogwarts itself.**_

_Haven't they ever lost any first-years here?_

_**Probably, but, you know, they're first-years. You forget about them as easily as you can drop-kick a puppy over a fence.**_

"Pay attention, class!" Professor Root clapped his hands. "Today's lesson is extremely dangerous and I will be extremely disappointed if you are the first student to break my perfect track record, so listen up! That includes you, Mr. Lestrange!"

_'Extremely disappointed'? _Tom thought, incensed. _Someone might DIE! And look at those idiots! They're all LAUGHING!_

_**Are you actually concerned?**_

_YES! I mean, look at me! Someone this flawless should not have to die in something as _stupid _as a Herbology accident! _

_**Oh. Thank goodness. I thought you were actually serious.**_

_About what? Oh, you mean the other students? Forget them. In fact, I'm kind of hoping that Lestrange isn't paying attention properly, so that he doesn't put his earmuffs on right._

_**He probably won't die. If these are new Mandrakes –**_

_\- then they'll only knock you unconscious; yes, yes, I KNOW. I can read, too, you know. I'm not going to kill off such a massive source of income just yet. And I KNOW_ I _can do a sound-cancelling charm, but still!__ Oh, don't be that way, Jerry; I KNOW no one has died at Hogwarts yet, but wouldn't it be embarrassing if we were the first?_

_**Us. Be the first to die.**_

_It could happen! I like to stay prepared, thank you very much. This is why we have to become immortal! I can't die! I just can't DIE! Not here!_

_**Oh, Tom, you are so adorable.**_

_WHAT?_

_**Shut up and stop freaking out. We're fine.**_

_Easy for _you _to say; you're already _dead_._

As it was, Tom did end up being completely fine, but that didn't make his concerns any less valid, because Lestrange, too busy smacking around Selwyn to pay attention to Professor Root's instructions, hadn't. Since he would be spending the rest of the day in the Hospital Wing, sleeping off the damage to his ears, Tom found himself spending time studying with all three of his original "friends" for the first time in weeks. After all, the only reason why so many lackeys constantly followed him around nowadays was because Lestrange _just wouldn't give up _and no one else wanted to be shown up by _him _of all people.

Sometimes it felt _nice _to finally be sitting next to people who _actually knew what they were doing for once_. Sort of. They were still stupid, compared to him. But at least they didn't grovel at his feet. He could, at least, say that he could suffer through a study session or a meal with Pomona, Filius, and Minerva without running through too much of his patience.

"Mandrakes are so awesome! Aren't they, Tom!"

"I prefer Professor Dumbledore's class myself."

"But you prefer Charms, don't you? It's such a versatile subject!"

"I think Transfiguration is versatile, too!"

"But the _plants_, Filius! The _plants_!"

…Most of the time.

_Oh, god, kill me now…_

_**The Mandrakes are still in the Herbology room if you want to use them.**_

_You're not helping._

_**You **_**said **_**"kill me now"!**_

_It was a figure of speech!_

_**I would rather not tempt Fate.**_

_Do you really believe in that crap?_

_**I have nooo idea. Logically, it's not supposed to work that way…**_

…_But these are wizards we're dealing with._

_**Talk about a warped imagination.**_

_Well, next time someone tells me to "go to hell", I can just point out to them that other people work just as well.  
_

_**Aren't you a bit young to start quoting Sartre at me?**_

_Whatever. _

Luckily, before Tom could go _too _stir-crazy, winter break came along, and the majority of the school's population departed for home, leaving Tom (mostly) to his own devices. The lack of human contact allowed him to cool down somewhat, just enough to regain his composure – because, sometimes, sneaking off to the Room of Requirement to find some goddamned peace and quiet just didn't cut it.

The winter passed just like the previous year, except that instead of socks, Tom bought Professor Dumbledore an entire case of raspberry jam instead. Professor Slughorn himself had been bribed with a box of crystallized pineapple, Headmaster Dippet received a plate of treacle tarts, and the upper-class Slytherin underground was introduced to the concept of magical blue rock candy.

_Don't you think there are sweets that will sell better than something as simple as rock candy, like, I don't know, Girl Scout cookies?_

_**Obviously you've never tried the stuff from Los Pollos Hermanos.**_

_Don't you mean "Los Hermanos Pollos"? The noun goes before the modifier in Spanish. _

_**No, I'm definitely thinking of Los Pollos Hermanos.**_

_What does Hispanic chicken have to do with rock candy?_

…They might be aspiring Dark Lords, but they had a duty to those poor deprived people. The orphanage hadn't given him the most privileged of childhoods, but it was better than growing up in a world where people were more creative with their childrens' names than their senses of taste. Seriously. Tom could name at least ten different types of fruit-based flavorings alone that _didn't _involve pumpkins of some sort. It was like this world was merely a bad rendition of Halloween.

_Hey – our mind-control spell is stronger than all of the current conventions of mind control or memory modification. And unlike the Imperius Curse, the effects of mind control still stay, like in a Confundus Charm, even after the connection breaks._

_**But it's still not perfect. You can only control one person at a time, and even though the effects stay, you can no longer continue sending orders after a certain distance. What you need is something that stays there and can't be removed.**_

_We'll figure that out when we get there. Meanwhile, we haven't even touched immortality since last year…_

_**Because there isn't any base information we can work with. Your research will go a lot faster once you've completed your education.**_

_There's the Philosopher's Stone. We could steal it, and then just attach it to the inside of my stomach with a Permanent Sticking Charm so that no one can steal it from us._

_**The Philosopher's Stone extends your lifespan, but it doesn't protect you against injury.**_

_What about Horcruxes? Hey! Don't look at me like that! I have a really, really brilliant idea that I swear won't make me go crazy, okay? I'll just make _one_, but get this – I'll make the _Earth _my Horcrux, so the only way to kill me would be to blow up the entire planet! And _then _I'll be totally immortal! Or, until the Sun explodes, by which point I'd probably not want to stick around anyway._

_**Tom, as stupidly genius that plan is, Horcruxes are **_**not **_**a good idea. Even **_**one **_**is too much.**_

_Well, then, what do _you _suggest?_

_**I don't know. But we'll figure something out. I mean, biologically, the reason why humans age is because your cells can only divide a certain amount of times before the end caps on your chromosomes deteriorate. If we could just magically preserve our own cells, we'd be all set.**_

_Maybe _that's _how the Elixir of Immortality works. Every time you take it, it extends the length of your telomeres, which extends the length of your life. That might also explain why you don't get auto-heal from it._

_**Now if only there was a way to prevent dying from non-age-related reasons that **_**didn't **_**involve a complete resurrection…**_

At least there were some positive things going on. Or, at least, positive for Tom. Not so much for the victims. For one, the market was suddenly jumping up again as Adolf Hitler (and Gellert Grindelwald, the current Dark Lord) started becoming more aggressive. He had received news through his chain of political/stockbroker middlemen that Czechoslovakia had now ceased to exist, carved up into little territories for the Germans and Hungarians, and more Nazi troops marching on Lithuania. The Free City of Danzig was reincorporated into German territory, and the Polish Corridor separating them from East Prussia was likewise thinning.

The German economy had been steadily improving before, since Adolf Hitler's takeover, but following this neo-imperialist news report, it was positively roaring now. The same was true for England; though Neville Chamberlain was still trying the appeasement route, it was quickly becoming clear that the words of the upstart Winston Churchill was gaining credibility. The politicians tried to deny any rumors of upcoming conflict, but they couldn't lie to Tom about the economy. When the amount of government commissions to several extremely specific industries suddenly increased by _that _much, you just _knew _that national leaders were scared enough to start preparing for yet another armaments race.

Though Tom and Jerry still scoffed at the incompetence of the people in power, they at least could give the Muggle governments credit for doing _something_, even if it was too little too late. The isolationist Magical British government, on the other hand, was still sitting on its ass, twiddling its thumbs, and pouring tea, its face turned so far in the wrong direction that it had actually crossed the right direction twice before settling on its current position. And even then it was still so blind that a man with a glaring purple shirt could have rushed in and stabbed all their eyes with knives and it wouldn't make a single difference in the world. Hell, they probably had earplugs shoved so far down their auditory canals that they had probably punctured the eardrum and were rubbing up against their brains by now.

_**Someone is being a bit salty today.**_

_I'm just pissed off. We're not making _any _progress on any of the things that matter._

_**Hey. Cheer up. Good Evil Overlords are always waaaaaaay upbeat.**_

_Because it throws off the general public?_

_**No, because statistically, people make poorer decisions while they're in a pissy mood.**_

_Jerry, I'm just hating life right now._

_**Want to go make Lestrange's life miserable again?**_

_Nah. That's getting old. I mean, it's still funny, but…I don't know. Right now, the only thing that will really, truly make me happier is finding something, _anything_, new on either of our two projects. Even a tiny lead will make me happy. I just need _some _evidence that we're progressing._

_**Well, you could always think of our failure as progress. Now we know what road **_**not **_**to continue going down on, right? Better to know to quit right at the beginning than follow a false lead only to figure out that it's impossible when you've wasted years that trail, thinking that you're almost done.**_

_I guess that's true. I just feel so _stuck _in this place, you know? There's got to be more to the world than just – sitting here and screwing around. Sometimes I just wish I was seventeen already. Even though I know that once I'm immortal – because I _will be_ immortal – this will seem like nothing but a blink of an eye._

_**It seems all so far away, doesn't it?**_

_God, I hate this place. _

_**You hate **_**everything**_**, Tom.**_

_Not _everything._ I do like some things. _

_**It has to be an actual **_**thing **_**for it to count, not a hobby like "plotting to take over the world."**_

_I like money._

_**Well, everyone likes money.**_

_I like magic, when it's not being stupid. Or books, when they're not dead wrong and the authors actually know what they're doing…shoot, I really hate everything, don't I?_

_**You better find something to entertain yourself outside of Evil Overlordly duties, or else you're going to go mad from boredom. It's like when you finally ascend to the throne and you wonder what the hell all that work getting there was for.**_

_Power? Security? The challenge?_

_**The challenge ends when you've won.**_

_I think Alexander the Great said that when he finished conquering the world, he wanted to turn around and conquer it again._

_**Why stop at the Earth, Tom? **_

…

_Why indeed?_

_**Feeling better, Tom?**_

_Oh, loads. Wait! Here comes Malfoy and his pet gorillas! Quick! Give me something really rude to tell him!_

_**Ah, that prissy bastard. I still don't understand how **_**he **_**was the fastest sperm. Looks like **_**someone's **_**mother forgot to say "Fetus Deletus." You know how scary it is, to think that people like him will grow up to reproduce? I'm still wondering how closely related his parents were. Then again, that can be said for all Pureblood families.**_

(Five seconds later)

"I'm sorry, Riddle, who did you get this note from again?"

"Orion Black, why?"


	14. Energy

_"#218. I will not pick up a glowing ancient artifact and shout 'Its power is now MINE!' Instead, I will grab some tongs, transfer it to a hazardous materials container, and transport it back to my lab for study."_

**_Yes~! Yes, it's finally happening!_**

_Shut up, Jerry! I'm trying to listen!_

**_"Shut up, Jerry," he says. "Trying to listen," he says. Please. Like I'm that much louder. You could hear him scream all the way from Norfolk._**

_I'm not good at multitasking!_

**_Liar. What sort of genius are you, anyway?_**

_One with a highly annoying voice in his head, that's what._

"YOU ARE A DISGRACE TO YOUR NAME, ORION BLACK! A DISGRACEFUL, FIENDISH _SCOUNDREL!_"

The beautiful little bubble that Tom had been cultivating ever since the beginning of the last year had finally burst, and now he was reaping the rewards of his work as a double agent.

"ME? _ME? YOU _ARE THE DISGRACE, MALFOY! HOW _DARE _YOU – "

"I DARE BECAUSE I CAN! WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT IT, BLACK? HIDE BEHIND YOUR TWENTY-FIVE DIFFERENT FAMILY MEMBERS LIKE YOU ALWAYS DO, YOU SOUR LITTLE – "

"DO _NOT _LECTURE ME ON WHAT DEFINES DISGRACE, YOU PIG! THAT'S WHAT YOU ARE, AND THAT'S _ALL _YOU ARE – FILTHY, DISGUSTING, SWINE!"

"BETTER BE SWINE THAN BREED LIKE RATS!"

"IT TAKES ONE TO KNOW ONE, MALFOY! YOU'RE JUST JEALOUS BECAUSE ALL OF THE BLACK FAMILY CHILDREN ARE LEGITIMATE! I WONDER HOW TWO PARENTS WITH DARK HAIR CAN PRODUCE A CHILD AS UNICORN WHITE AS YOU?"

_Recessive genes, moron. Ever heard of them?_

**_Wizards plus genetics? Please. There's a reason why they're all so stupid that they_**** still****_ condone first-cousin marriages over multiple generations._**

"LIBEL! SLANDER! FILTH!"

"I SMELL A SCANDAL, AND DON'T YOU DARE HIDE IT FROM ME, YOU BASTARD!"

Tom couldn't quite hear what was going on after that, since curses started flying, and he had nearly gotten trampled as everyone who had shown up to watch the fight started running out of there like bats out of hell. And there were a _lot _of people who had shown up. Why would they not? The way both of them were screaming, Tom was surprised that they hadn't caused a major sonic disruption in the entirety of Scotland. Dying in a human stampede of all things was an extremely embarrassing death – almost as embarrassing as having a screaming plant liquefy your brain. (He was still rather sore about that bit of idiotic lesson planning, by the way.)

Tom, surprisingly, found himself to actually be feeling very regretful about Malfoy's and Black's situation. According to the rumors, and the scorch marks running halfway up the wall in the corridor where the confrontation had taken place, the battle had been more intense and violent than expected, and Tom had _missed _the entire thing! Sure, it had been for his own safety – there were just too many people in the way to move around properly, and it would be pretty suspicious if a second-year could deflect stray curses with as much accuracy as any grown wizard, even if half of them were secret family-bound spells that shouldn't be found in any textbook. Pretty much all of the people stupid enough to stay behind after the catfight had escalated to maximal capacity had become "unfortunate innocent bystanders", or, in better terms, "collateral damage", and both Abraxas Malfoy and Orion Black were left hospitalized for over a week.

One thing was for sure – both the current Malfoy and Black patriarchs – Abraxas' and Orion's fathers – were forced to show up for a conference at Hogwarts. If even a tenth of what came forth from the grapevine was to be believed, the only reason why no one was going to Azkaban for teaching their sons such obviously Dark curses – secrets only passed down through the family line, since there were no reference books on them in Hogwarts (or so they claimed) – was because a substantial amount of money had exchanged hands.

To which Tom had mentally responded, _of COURSE, you nitwits! Money exchanges hands inside your very government on a daily basis, and let me tell you, they aren't buying Pumpkin Pasties off one another!_

Even after all this had died down, it was clear that neither the Malfoys nor the Blacks would ever be the same again after all this. At the very least, Abraxas Malfoy was now taken out of candidacy for school valedictorian, and the same for Orion Black in the field of Head Boy. On a larger scale, both families had suffered a severe decline in popularity for causing so much trouble throughout the year, as well as dragging several other families into the mess, and both of them blamed each other for starting it.

Neither of them gave any significance to the little half-blood orphan boy that had interacted so much with both of their clan heirs throughout the whole struggle.

One thing was obvious by the end of this rather destructive war, however – because of the sheer amount of reparations both the Malfoys and the Blacks had ended up paying to keep all of the lawyers and newspapers and anti-Dark Arts lobbyists quiet, they were no longer the richest families in Britain. Rather, the Lestranges, the next runner-up, had quietly and mysteriously risen to the position of the most powerful family in Great Britain for something that they weren't even involved in that much. (Really, they hadn't been _that _far behind the Malfoys and Blacks in terms of money – it was just prestige that they lacked, being relatively "new money" by one or two generations. Their respect hadn't grown; the respect for the Malfoys and Blacks had simply shrunk because of that new scandal.)

And guess who had little Edmund Lestrange, the future boss of that massive collection of power and prestige, right in his pocket?

Tom just absolutely _loved _himself.

And so, looking back, despite their lack of movement in both their target areas of immortality and mind-control, second year hadn't been a total waste. Besides, they had mastered both Occlumency and Legilimency with Professor Slughorn, and in the end had just wiped the man's mind of the whole ordeal completely, for starters, so now _no one _knew that Tom Riddle could read minds.

Compared to Occlumency, Legilimency was a lot easier to learn, but more difficult to master. With Occlumency, once you got over the initial hurdle that was the difference between being an Occlumens or not, it really was quite simple shoring up your defenses. Legilimency, on the other hand, was something that had to be improved on slowly even after the initial challenge was met. Tom had managed to read Professor Slughorn's unprotected mind on his first try without any prior practice, which was not so uncommon, because many other students had done so. However, even he had issues increasing the strength of his Legilimency skills to the point where he could break through a mental barrier.

For all his faults, however, Professor Slughorn was a decent teacher. The man had made sure to increase the strength of his shields little by little, so Tom could be exposed to all levels of mental defenses, not just nothing or everything. With this, Tom managed to figure out just which levels of shield strengths he could slip past, and which levels he'd actually have to work at – and consequently alert the victim to the fact that he was trying to read their mind.

Unfortunately, there were restrictions to what he could do because of this limit, no matter how strong he made himself – after a certain point, when up against a skilled Occlumens, you just _had_ to use the brute force method. That meant that Professor Dumbledore and Professor Slughorn (when he was sober), who were both confirmed to be maximally trained Occlumens, completely off-limits. But gleaning random thoughts from fellow students wasn't a problem, and, now that he could fake his own thoughts, too, looking Professor Dumbledore in the eye was no longer a clear and present danger, either.

Also, their initial plan about Legilimizing themselves to see if they could figure out what memories they were missing hadn't gone according to plan. In the aftermath, Jerry had speculated that their spectacular failure, which would not be spoken of ever agin, might have had something to do with their unique case of having two mutually independent minds occupying the same body.

Whatever was the case, Tom had been lucky that he had taken the precaution of only looking at one of his eyes in the mirror, while keeping the other one closed and out of reflection range so that he could cut the connection, if necessary. Recursive thoughts had not been the issue – Tom and Jerry had planned for the case of being trapped in an infinite loop of their own thoughts forever, and thus had aimed to go find deeper memories so that they wouldn't be stuck in real-time observation. No, it was being bombarded with two sets of memories – his own complicated ones, which involved Jerry, and Jerry's own fragmented pieces – that nearly drove him mad. Or rather, _would _have driven him mad, had he not opened his other eye and canceled the connection in time.

_What the hell was that?_

**_I'm just an extremely messed-up individual. Why?_**

_Did you now this was going to happen?_

**_No. Or, maybe I did, but I forgot. It's all somewhere in there._**

_You should really reorganize yourself. There are entire _gaps_ in your mind-space, Jerry! Not like – missing – but from the brief glimpse that I got, you've been storing entirely unrelated and incompatible pieces of yourself next to each other._

**_I know! What do you think I've been doing since you were _****born****_? Mind you, it used to be a lot worse. Why do you think I couldn't tell you so much about magic before?_**

_Jerry!_

**_Tom, I know we kind of freaked out earlier, but I seriously think you're safely protected against any mental intrusion or mind-wipes…_**

_Slughorn Legilimized us, didn't he?_

**_Yes, but we were prepared for him. He never saw anything we didn't want him to see. If someone had actually tried to get through to us before, when we didn't have any mental defenses yet, or tried to break through now, that was what they would have seen._**

_Jerry, you're not going to explode on me like some mental time bomb, are you?_

**_I can't make any promises, Tom._**

Tom chose not to answer to that. Meanwhile, Hector Fawley, the Minister of Magic, had chosen not to answer to the Grindelwald threat, either. As a result, he was no longer Minister of Magic. For once, the wizards had been one step ahead of the Muggles – in replacing their incompetent leaders, at least.

Ironically, their greatest advancement that year hadn't come from their extra side plans, but from a single mundane thing that every single Hogwarts student was required to do.

Class registration.

Yes, their greatest advancement that year had come from class registration.

Why?

Because at the end of second year, all incoming third-years were required to sign up for some additional elective classes. Two, to be exact.

Except that there were always cases of professional overachievers like Tom. Or so Jerry tried to create, anyway.

_ALL of the classes? Are you out of your mind? Why the hell do we even need Muggle Studies? Everything these idiots have has got to be at least twenty years out of date!_

**_Just tell them you want to learn about Muggles from a wizard's perspective, so that you can make yourself more open-minded._**

_I'm not talking about the teachers! I'm talking about US! Why the HELL do we want to take all of these useless classes? And Divination! Weren't you the one telling me about not stretching myself too thin?_

**_It's not about the classes; it's about the stupidity of wizards._**

_We already established that…_

**_No, no, no, just wait…this will be the best thing ever in the history of the world._**

_Oh, really?_

**_Yes, really. Wanna bet?_**

_What am I going to bet? The only thing I can get from you is silence, and we both know you never shut up anyway._

**_Please. You love it when I talk to you._**

_Shut your face, Jerry._

**_Love you too._**

"Professor Slughorn, I want to talk about my schedule…"

"Ah, yes, Tom. Do come in. I was just about to seek you out myself."

"Well, that's convenient, sir."

"Yes, yes…well, Tom, I haven't had a single problem with you, not one, your entire stay here at Hogwarts, until now," Professor Slughorn mumbled, stroking his moustache. "Rather expectedly, I suppose, since a young boy can't keep himself out of trouble – I was once one myself – but of course, for _you,_ it's not quite _bad _trouble as it is just you being _too good_."

"I'm sorry, sir?"

"Oh, don't be, Tom. It's just that…well, it says here that you want to take all of the elective classes, even though there's only two spots for new courses open in your schedule." Professor Slughorn ran a hand through his thinning hair tiredly.

Tom looked down, shuffling his feet and fiddling with his fingers. "I know, sir, but…the magical world just fascinates me so much, and I don't want to have to leave out a single class just because I don't have enough time…"

Professor Slughorn immediately tried to backtrack, thinking that Tom probably thought himself to be in actual trouble (because that was what all overachieving, law-abiding students did – they took the blame for things that weren't even a crime). "Oh, don't look so crestfallen, Tom! It's perfectly natural for an intelligent young man like you to be curious. Now, normally, I'd be afraid that someone might work himself into exhaustion, but I know you could do it. It's not about _your _abilities to keep up with the workload, I'm afraid…but the school just doesn't offer so many sections of classes. We _might _be able to make room for a third, but _all _of the electives?"

"If it's too much trouble, sir, I don't really need all of that. I was just _inquiring _as to if this was possible or not…" Tom said, throwing down all of his cards on the reverse psychology ploy.

It worked. Professor Slughorn was now scrambling for ideas to help his prize pupil achieve his wish. "Oh, Tom, I'd give anything to be half the student you were! Imagine! You'd be the first student in Hogwarts history to take _all _of its designated courses! But how would it be done? You'd have to be in two places at once!" Professor Slughorn sank back into his large, plushy armchair, stroking his chin. "Unless…hmmm…I might actually have an idea for you…"

**_Yes! Yes! Yes! It worked!_**

_What the hell was that all about?_

**_Trust me; you'll see! It'll be awesome!_**

"Just in case, though, Tom, I'll put you down for Arithmancy and Ancient Runes like you wanted intially – and maybe, we might be able to give you a third class, too…would you like Divination, Muggle Studies, or Care of Magical Creatures?"

"Hmmm…I don't think I'm a Seer, and I think I'll be able to read textbooks on the wizarding perspective of Muggle life on my own, so…Care of Magical Creatures it is. It's the one class besides Herbology that is really hands-on work."

"Excellent reasoning, Tom. Excellent reasoning indeed. So, it's double A's for you, and then Care of Magical Creatures if there's room…and I'll see what I can do about the other two classes. Well, that's that. Move along now, Tom. I'll let you know if your request went through successfully when the book lists come out this summer."

"All right! Thank you so much, sir!"

_Okay, that was over with. Now, tell me – what's so "awesome"?_

But Jerry refused to elaborate any further on the "amazing surprise", so Tom just shrugged and continued going about his business. Most of it was just the usual tirade – test ways of creating increasingly potent mind-control spells, insult Lestrange, smile and socialize with his friends, insult Lestrange again, kiss up to the teachers, lament on the idiocy of being unable to create something as simple as food, and cultivate the wonderfully growing Great Pureblood Civil War.

Speaking of which…

Sadly, all wonderful things must come to an end, and when June came along, the most powerful child in Great Britain now found himself once again suffering away in the heat of a non-air conditioned orphanage, waiting for the summer to end just so he could return to that drafty castle in northern Scotland. It wasn't the temperature that was bothering Tom, oh no – if Tom ever felt uncomfortably warm, all he would have to do was pass the orphanage fence (which marked the boundaries of his "summer home") and use magic to cool himself down.

No, it was the atmosphere in general – the bubbling, feverish heat of the worried masses – that kept Tom from thinking properly. The explosion between the Malfoys and Blacks weren't the only major event bubbling throughout Great Britain. On the non-magical side of the wall, there were other whispers. Whispers of war, of Hitler, of the Sudetenland and then Czechoslovakia and now Lithuania and Poland and what next? Austria? Hungary? France? Britain? Europe? were crawling through the streets. The Chamberlain regime continued to issue calming notes – panicking populations were always bad, regardless of how justified their fears were – to little avail.

At the orphanage, there were many children, children who were normally ignorant of politics and of life in general, children who normally only looked forward to their next meal, also concerned about this chain of events. It was not for the same reason as Tom, or any of the politically savvy upper middle class, but it was concern all the same. They were orphans, after all. The ones that had resisted the temptation of running away with the street gangs and were now seventeen and a half, going on eighteen, would soon be leaving the care of the state and be forced to make it on their own in the world. None of them could afford a higher education, or even vocational school. At this point, they would either be going into menial labor at the docks or factories – or, more likely, if war broke out, they would be the first to be drafted. And the fifteen, sixteen-year-olds, not so far behind, wondered if they would be old enough to fall into the right age slot for drafting if this "war" that everyone was whispering about dragged on for more than a year.

Tom was not a sympathetic person. Never had been. All of his skills with identifying emotion were solely for the sake of manipulating them. But that didn't mean that all the whining and crying of his fellow tenants didn't bother him all the same. There was nothing more annoying than listening to idiots whine about something they didn't understand. They weren't thinking for themselves – they were simply regurgitating bits of pieces of conversation that they had garnered from eavesdropping on conversations between the matron and the random government social workers that dropped by, or spewing forth random news headlines from papers that they deemed too boring to read compared to the comics sections. But, even more annoying was the fact that, despite their idiocy, they still managed to hit a bit of the truth spot-on through sheer guesswork.

Being shipped off to war wasn't an unreasonable fear at all. Better to sacrifice young men without any families to miss them, and reduce the amount of money the state had to spend on social welfare.

Luckily, Tom was only thirteen, so he didn't have to worry right now. Expanding his world map and continuing to illicitly hone his magical skills was all that mattered. It wasn't until his course list arrived at the orphanage in midsummer – which indicated that his plot to take all of the Hogwarts courses for some amazing prize had been successful – that Tom remembered Jerry's promise of "something amazing".

**_I swear, it is! This will be more amazing than anything you'll ever see today!_**

_What happens if it's _not _that amazing? _Tom snarked back. _Are you going to refund all of my wasted time, listening to you yak on and on about that?_

**_Funny you should mention that…_**

_Why?_

**_You'll see._**

_Dammit, Jerry._

And so, among all of the busy work that came with being an aspiring Dark Lord, Tom forgot all about Jerry's annoying habit of keeping secrets and witholding information for the sake of sounding more awesome and mysterious than he actually was.

(**_Hey!_**)

Well. _Forgot _was probably a bad word to describe the situation, since Tom didn't _forget _things. That little exchange with Professor Slughorn just simply…moved to the back of his mind. He had more important things to do than sit around and wait for Jerry's surprises – there were a lot more important things he had planned and even more important things he had to deal with.

As the summer went on, the air of tension just kept on growing and growing, until finally, on the day Tom was due to return to Hogwarts, newspapers all over London and the rest of the world screamed that Hitler had invaded Poland. The entire time Tom stood on the trolley to King's Cross Station, and then the entire way crossing over to Platform 9 and ¾, he was being besieged by newspaper boys yelling about the latest story – received through telegraphs and telephones from the Continent – about just exactly what type of bombs the Germans had used to destroy so-and-so marketplace in the Warsaw suburbs. Everywhere he went or tried to go, he was being bombarded with reports of the second Great War.

For once, Tom was thanking the discrepancies between the Wizarding World and the Muggle World. He'd be a legal adult, free to escape and go about his merry way, and openly use magic without getting into trouble (as long as he skipped the border into another equally isolationist nation before the Aurors caught up to him) before the British government could sink their hands into him. Not that draft dodging wouldn't be easy enough, for Tom, but it would be a waste of time. Once again, he had better things to do. He _always _had better things to do.

Anyway, now that he was pretty much safe from getting shipped off to the front lines, Tom decided to look on the bright side and consider this invasion a _good thing. _Wars always did well for the stock market. _After _a war, when the aftermath finally caught up with them, not so much. But at the beginning, when everyone was still excited and hyped up to do their part, it did wonders to stimulate an nation recovering from an economic depression.

It was with this cheery mindset that Tom was able to smile pleasantly to a group of first-years on the train right before treating Edmond Lestrange to a vicious verbal smackdown only two minutes later. Something about Hogsmeade and how Tom should go with his own House members on their very first weekend instead of those other "inferior half-blood" people, to which Tom had responded along the lines of, "What a great idea. So-and-so Slytherins BUT NOT EDMOND LESTRANGE sound like great company. Just kidding. Edmond, I love you. Which is why I'm going to introduce you to Minerva and Filius and Pomona, and we will all sit here and make merry and be friends and _sit down, Edmond Lestrange, _because you are being _very _rude, and I don't think your darling mama would be very pleased to hear that her sweet baby Eddikins is acting just like those ruffians Malfoy and Black."

Speaking of Black, he was currently sitting alone in the compartment across the hall. The poor guy was just looking so _lost _and _vulnerable_. Tom made a mental note to go talk to him later, when he had the chance. The head of the Black family was just _sitting there _for the _taking_! Why was _no one _else trying to take advantage of this situation?

Oh, right. None of the purebloods that had taken sides the previous year wanted to be involved with either the Blacks or the Malfoys anymore – and very few of them were willing to take the risk to be involved with a family as volatile as the Lestranges just yet, either, even with all the money they now had at their disposal.

Oh, well. More for Tom, now.

Just absolutely bagging on people just put Tom in such a good mood. If someone as stupid as _Lestrange _could react so amazingly, imagine how much more amusing it would be to push someone on as high of a horse as _Orion Black _to the ground!

**_You seem in an awfully good mood today._**

_Hello? Germany just invaded Poland. The values of our stocks are going through the roof right now. And in two days, Great Britain and France will be declaring war on Germany. Do you _know _what this will do to us?_

**_That _****is ****_pretty awesome._**

_You don't seem as appreciative of this as I am._

**_Mainly because I'm expecting something much better._**

_What can be better than tap-dancing Nazis?_

**_Forget the damn Nazis! This is going to be way cooler!_**

_Oh, really?_

**_Yes, really!_**

Tom still had no idea what Jerry was going on about all the way throughout supper, and all through the night when they were _supposed _to be sleeping, and all the way through breakfast the next day until Professor Slughorn finally came over and rescued Tom from Jerry's hyperactive ramblings.

"Tom, I have a very special bit of information that _must remain a secret_; do you understand?"

Tom nodded, in the privacy of his teacher's office.

"We couldn't accommodate the time slots to fit your schedule, so instead – and this was approved unanimously by all of the teachers, including Headmaster Dippet himself – we are going to change_your _schedule to fit the time slots." Professor Slughorn produced a small black box and opened it to reveal a tiny hourglass on a chain.

Tom's eyes grew wide.

"This is a Time-Turner, Tom, and we had to go through many lengths with the Ministry of Magic to get it for you."

…And all of a sudden everything Jerry was raging on about over the summer made sense.

* * *

BONUS #7:

_Naming that Mind-Control Spell_

_Because we need a better word than Mind-Control every time we actually mind control someone_

**_How about mensirrumabo? Actually – no. That's too long. "Mind control" only has three syllables. That word has four. Maybe, anifute. We shall anifute that person. Or, we have anifuted him. The Anifute Curse. Or the Anifute Charm, if we want to mislead people into thinking that it's harmless._**

_All right. That sounds reasonable. And it's nice and Latin._

**Yes!**

_Out of curiosity, how did you come up with that word?_

**_I just…did?_**

_I don't believe you._

**_Fine. I asked the audience_**_._

_Jerry, be serious._

**_I am!_**

_You know what? I'm going to look it up in the Latin dictionary._

**_3…_**

**_2…_**

**_1…_**

_JERRY!_

**_Too late! You already said okay!_**

_Goddammit, Jerry!_

* * *

A/N: Anifute is the English bastardization of _animus _(mind) + _futuo_ (fuck). Literally, mindfuck, but since it's Latin, it sounds so much better.

Thank you to all of you who replied. Special thanks to **Cyrus Dragonhunter**, who gave me the idea with the suggestion, "Mindfuckarius," and to all of the other people who responded with awesome Latin stuff.

_Honorable mentions:_

**LiteralEden** and **thepkrmgc** for their outside-the-box suggestions about using made-up words and sounds instead of actual spells.

**Jozern **for THETOTALLYMEGAAWESOMEBADASSPERFECTBADASSMINDCONTROLSPELL!

**Aethelhild **for The Blue Pill.

And last but not least, **Evilness42 **for coming up with the absolutely genius spell, "Hello." The thing is, Tom and Jerry can already do the spell without saying anything. They just need a name for the spell so they can differentiate it from other forms mind control. I do, however, have an extra bonus just for that one.


	15. Friendship

A/N: Apologies for the ultra-late update. I've been having trouble continuing this story lately, simply because, unlike my other story, it actually doesn't have much of a plot or a purpose...except Tom Riddle being funny.

I spent an inordinate amount of time on this chapter, but I'm still not 100% happy with it. Oh, well. Updating is updating, right?

Let me know what you think.

* * *

_"#233. I will only ever reveal enough of my skills to inspire respect, so that people will be afraid to rise up against me. I will, however, never reveal just exactly how smart or powerful I am."_

"This is a Time-Turner, Tom, and we had to go through many lengths with the Ministry of Magic to get it for you."

…And all of a sudden everything Jerry was raging on about over the summer made sense.

"We will allow you to use this to go back in time so that you may attend multiple classes running at the same time…"

Somewhere in the distance, Professor Slughorn was talking about the importance and power of the object, and how Tom "must not misuse it," and how "it was meant for schoolwork only," and how "these things are very rare and expensive and you better not break it or you'll be sorry and the Ministry will make both our lives miserable," and "rules and regulations blah blah blah," and "don't let your past self see you or you'll create a paradox," and "you can only go back for six hours at a time," and "here's a flowchart of the limitations of the use of a Time-Turner within a 24-hour period," and "here's how to actually use it but here's an instruction manual just in case," and "here are some more rules and regulations blah blah blah…"

Yeah, Tom wasn't listening to any of that shit. His mind had short-circuited at the phrase "Time-Turner."

Honestly. He had just been handed the freaking _kingpin _of space-time anomalies, and now they were expecting him to sit back and use it like a responsible person?

Pffft. Bitch, _please_.

"Do you understand, Tom?"

"Of course, Professor Slughorn."

Of course, the fact that they were willing to lend it out to some random thirteen-year-old kid (albeit one with a ridiculously pristine reputation) meant that the Ministry probably had many more stashed away somewhere. Probably much more powerful ones, too.

_Hmmm…_

There was no way Tom was going to give up this thing. _Ever_. And there was no way he was going to go to sleep tonight. He had to make sure he maximized the usage of his Time-Turner in all ways possible.

See, even though a Time-Turner displayed a very convenient user interface (unlike some _other _rather counterintuitive tools that these highly illogical wizards didn't seem to be bothered enough to fix), you still had to be careful when using them. You didn't just spin it once or twice and hope for the best! You had to plan out your route, draw a mental schedule map, and come up with reasonable labels for yourself, like #1 3:00 Tom vs. #2 5:00 Tom, et cetera.

Really, Tom didn't know how anyone without a less than perfect memory would be able to get around with these things.

There were just so many crimes he could commit with this thing, all the while maintaining his alibi. He could double – no, triple – wait, this thing worked for six hours at a time, so – hextuple? – his time researching. He could totally cheat the system at the stock exchange. Hell, he could even just skip out of the castle and go wandering around on the moors of Scotland, and no one would ever know he was gone (not that he'd waste his time doing that, but it was just nice knowing that he _could_).

And, also, no evil plot would be complete without him finally figuring out how to reverse-engineer it, since he sure as hell wasn't going to be giving away a freaking _time machine_ back to the goddamned _Ministry _at the end of the year of all things.

If Tom wasn't going to milk this thing for all its worth, he might as well just put a dunce cap on his own head and retire from this Evil Overlord businesss.

Of course, the downside was that Tom was now taking twelve classes instead of the usual nine…

It seemed like every time Tom had a good day, these wizards just had to do something so mind-numbingly idiotic to cancel it out. It was only the first day and already Muggle Studies and Divination were already boring him to death. He didn't care about the homework – his automatic essay generator (no one had noticed anything about that yet, by the way) took care of that. But he still had to _sit through _an hour of incompetence for each class.

Including Muggle Studies and Divination.

_Shit, this is BORING._

_**Oh, you poor baby.**_

_Why aren't you being more sympathetic to my complaints?_

_**Quit whining, you loser. A whiny loser does not a Dark Lord make.**_

_And shitty impersonations of Shakespearean rhythm does not a smart man make._

_**Touche.**_

_..._

…

_Jerry?_

_**Mmm…yes, Tom?**_

_I'm bored._

_**What was that about being more mature about the rest of your classmates?**_

_Oh, please. You're bored, too. Admit it. _

_**That, I agree with.**_

_Why is it that every time _I _feel like I'm about to lose it from the general idiocy of the common masses, _you _seem to become even calmer?_

_**Probably because I've just been so overblown with disgust that I really don't care anymore.**_

_Ugh. Jerry. There are a million things we could be doing that are more useful than _this_._

Muggle Studies was embarrassingly outdated, which was rather dangerous when you realized that just a little over a decade ago, the soldiers of Europe were already massacreing each other by the millions – over ugly and worthless patches of war-torn land barely the size of an average secondary school sports field. And now they were bringing out the tanks and planes again.

Tom vaguely wondered just how much worse this next one would be, as Britain and France were already involved. Jerry had promised that the First World War would be nothing compared to Hitler, but he refused to expand on how.

The thing was, the wizarding population of Great Britain barely numbered in the thousands. All over the world, compared to the billions and billions of Muggles, they were but an insignificant statistic. If the Muggles ever managed to find Diagon Alley…well, the scientists might be intrigued. Children might also find it interesting. But the xenophobes and fanatic religious zealots would probably find a way to condemn them for "doing the Devil's work", and it would all disintegrate from there. One trained soldier with a machine gun, should he ever find Diagon Alley, could wipe out the entire main street before a team of trained Aurors managed to take him down – with heavy casualties for them besides. A single legion of paratroopers – an insignificant portion of the British military – could destroy them in a matter of hours.

By the time reinforcements arrived and managed to put up shields, most of the civilians would be dead – many of them children, unable to control their own magic or perform it outside of school.

Now, of course, their space-time anomaly things would keep them hidden well enough, but for those living in Muggle-dominated areas without the privilege of that protection...If wizards knew the danger of bombs and such, they would definitely be more prepared. The difference between extinction and survival was reaction time – if only they could shield themselves before the bullets and explosions actually connected.

And if only wizards knew what Muggle weapons even _were_. According to the Ministry-approved textbooks (which knew the existence of cars and odd houses of contraptions called "factories", at least), the most dangerous weapons had been these post-Civil War/Imperialist era things. No mention of poison gas, flamethrowers, or tanks at all.

**_See, one wizard can probably keep out a battalion of machine-gunners with a simple Protego, but you can't exactly defend yourself against a sniper outside of the range of a supersensory charm. _**

_You think wizards know what scopes are?_

_**Telescopes for stars and stuff? Sure. Attached to their wands? Well, considering that they're still bent on doing the whole whirly-twirly deal every time they want to butter a freaking piece of bread, I don't think scopes will do them much good****. Stealth kills are done through potions or invisible curses, not dueling.**_

The problem with wizards was that they still considered themselves "superior" to the Muggles because they didn't understand them. Even the more "progressive" wizards were still embarrassingly condescending. Smart, for _their kind_, and _almost _just like us, but in the end, _we're still the apex species_, so _it's our job to protect them_. And their attitude trickled down to everyone else, even the half-blood and Muggle-born population, who had been integrated into this world at the age of eleven. Because, really, magic was something that made them feel special – never mind that their education would end at the age of eleven and they would continue through life never knowing what an electric field or a Punnett square even _was_.

In Tom's opinion, the wizards needed more protecting than the Muggles. People in general were stupid. A smart Muggle had the advantage over a dumb wizard; a smart wizard had the advantage over a dumb Muggle. Dumb Muggles and dumb wizards were equally useless. Smart wizards versus smart Muggles, on the other hand...while in the 1300s, a smart wizard was smarter than a smart Muggle, that gap was growing smaller by the day as technology replaced the need for magic.

Tom would have sorely loved to introduce a proper engineering course into the Hogwarts curriculum. He would take that any day over Divination. Of course, if Tom had been going to Muggle school, he probably would have hated everything just as much. One classic aspect of being a successful Evil Overlord was to _never _be satisfied with _anything _\- or, in marketing terms, "the constant desire for self-improvement".

But Divination truly made absolutely no sense. Tom didn't even bother to try in that class after he saw what the first week was like. He wasn't a true Seer, and even if he was, a class in Divination wouldn't help _him _any because true Seers never remembered their own predictions. Not that he wasn't amazing at faking it. People just liked to bite at things they looked for. Most of their tricks were all psychological – you basically used vague stock phrases into tricking people into revealing information about themselves, and then pretend like you knew all along.

Maybe that was what Divination was – a secret marketing class. Just like another Muggle magic show, except that some poor souls actually thought the illusions were more than simple smoke and mirrors.

Arithmancy wasn't much better – though people constantly complained that it was the hardest class in Hogwarts, Tom realized that it was actually the easiest for him because he had basically been doing this stuff since he was old enough to understand Jerry. As long as you memorized what each number stood for, setting up the right equations to solve for the unknown values that were supposed to be used in each point of the shape was really easy.

Unfortunately, most wizards had an elementary concept of mathematics at the best, since they were medieval Europeans (the Arab mathematicians were the ones who figured out algebra and preserved geometry, and Calculus hadn't been figured out until hundreds of years later during the Enlightenment). The few Muggle-borns who did have an elementary concept of algebra had left their world at eleven, and of course most eleven-year-olds did not know how to solve a system of equations, much less use matrices to speed up the process.

Tom was pretty sure that there _were _people out there who understood math more advanced than basic arithmetic, but what was the point of publishing their ideas? Very few people took Arithmancy to begin with, and most dropped by the time the N.E.W.T.s rolled along. Wizards had no need for the laws of physics. They didn't chart planets and comets for the sake of understanding the gravitational effects they had on one another. They didn't have an advanced international economy that required an intensive understanding of income distribution and export/import ratios and growth/inflation/unemployment statistics. Unlike Muggles, wizards didn't require logic to survive or advance because they had magic. And, as long as math wasn't needed, it wouldn't be used – even if it meant making the lives of lots of students easier.

As a result, Arithmancy had been resolved to basically guess and check. The more math-oriented students were _better _guessers, but the problem was, with Arithmancy, you usually only got one chance to guess the right answer. The most simple method of solving an Arithmancy problem was drawing a regular, equilateral polygon with the same number of sides as the number of variables you had, and then adding the value to each side.

Therefore, the definition of a more complicated problem was one that involved more variables, and thus more sides (who the hell thought drawing a nonagon was a smart idea, anyway?). Third years were limited to, as expected, triangles, fourth years to squares, and so on, and only the craziest wizard mathematicians and cursebreakers bothered to do anything beyond heptagons.

If the values were wrong, the shape would disintegrate upon itself, and you would either have to redraw the shape perfectly and keep on guessing (which didn't always work), or, more simply, just figure out your error based on how deformed your collapsed shape was, and try your best to account for that error when drawing your next estimate by lengthening or shortening sides. The closer the initial estimate was, the less correction would be needed. Scores were based on accuracy – how far your solution was from a perfect equilateral polygon – divided by how many tries it took you. As a result, most students barely bothered to do more than one initial estimate.

If Tom had his way, he'd be producing perfect equilateral triangles every single time. For someone of his level, solving a 3-row matrix only took a few seconds. Quite unfortunately, however, that was impossible for the wizards. Even the other smart kids like Minerva and Filius were barely pulling through with something vaguely isosceles after half an hour of muttering to themselves, and everyone else was lucky to even get something that _resembled _a scalene triangle before the class was over.

One lucky guess on the first try was passable. Two was unheard of. Ten practice problems in a row, all with perfect answers, in less than half the time it took for normal grown wizards with an O-plus-plus on their N.E.W.T. in the subject and twenty years of field experience to do _one_, and something was up.

So Tom just figured out the right answers in his head, and wrote down the wrong answers based on how far off Minerva and Filius were. Not that being hailed as some sort of Arithmancy Merlin was _bad_, but there were more disadvantages than advantages to being famous. For one, he just _knew _that Professor Radian would force him to help tutor everyone in his "magical" solution, and he didn't think he'd be able to stand any more of this idiocy than necessary.

And Ancient Runes wasn't much, either. At third-year level, it was little more than a glorified foreign language class. Except that it lacked even the most basic of conversation skill sets or grammar rules.

In theory, Ancient Runes was a very versatile art. It didn't just stop at Permanent Sticking Charms – literally just about any spell could be applied to Runes.

In reality, however, most drawn runes exploded if the desired spell was applied in incorrect locations and orders (in contrast to the abysmal shapes of Arithmancy imploding into meaningless squiggles), and thus was considered a lot more dangerous than Arithmancy even if Arithmancy was supposedly harder.

The only problem with Runes, like Arithmancy, was that wizards had not figured out a logical way to create them that worked all the time, and thus resorted to some very messy and often unstable guessing and checking. Its saving grace was that Ancient Runes had been around for a longer time than Arithmancy because it was, well, _ancient_, and so people had had more time to explore them. Thus, while there was no set _method_, there _were _multiple, highly complicated rules that in general worked for simple things – locking doors and preserving food and whatnot.

Tom didn't know how people could deal with such illogical messiness. Most runes, after they were drawn, had the magic applied in a counterclockwise direction, starting at the 12 o'clock tip, with a pause at each vertice. However, if there was a circle in the picture, you reversed direction and started at 6 o'clock, and if there was a curve that wasn't a circle, you started at 3 o'clock and reversed direction for every curve that you encountered thereafter. But if there was a triangle then you scrapped all of that and started at the tip that extended furthest from the center, and if there were any unconnected lines or dots or shapes more complicated than a square, you were in deep trouble, and then you'd have to deal with double connections…

You get the picture.

Creating existing Runes were simple enough, as long as you memorized all the rules and knew what order in which to follow them. But creating entirely new Runes often took entire lifetimes – which was why, even after thousands of years, there were only a limited handful of compound designs apart from the ones on the basic templates.

Of course, if wizards actually bothered to learn _why _the rules were what they were, instead of simply _what _the rules were, they'd realize that everything they filled those ginormous books with could instead be simplified down to one single generalization that worked every single time:

Use a bloody Arithmantic shape and you won't have to worry about any of that.

After all, _Tom _used them, and as a result, Tom never exploded any runes that he didn't sabotage on purpose himself.

See, when wizards drew runes, every time they needed a new component, they just slapped on another one of the base runes. The reason why most people didn't use regular convex polygons all the time was because a) it meant creating a new structure every time, akin to using Chinese characters instead of a phonetic alphabet (though how zigzags and swirls and lightning bolts were "less complicated" than simply drawing out a known shape, Tom didn't understand), and, more commonly, b) Arithmancy and Ancient Runes were already difficult enough by themselves and Tom suspected that everyone was just too scared to see how they could be solved together.

Tom _had _to give the rest of the plebians a _little _benefit of the doubt. Using Arithmantic shapes in combination with the spell application methods of Runes made the process more accurate, but it wasn't _that _much simpler. It was easier for Tom because it made sense to him – but he suspected that even if other people knew about it, they'd still continue using the same old ways.

The Arithmantic method for drawing runes required a lot of magical control. A _lot_. Estimation and guess and check worked reasonably well most of the time because at least they allowed wizards to sort of _feel _where their magic was going, and direct it accordingly. Tom's method was extremely exact and left no room for error. That meant that the user had to be absolutely _perfect_ in all application. If not, then the failure would presumably be quite epic.

But since most wizards hadn't managed to consciously and wandlessly levitate objects by the age of five, they probably didn't have the mental power for this, either.

It was like waking up in the middle of the night to get a glass of water. The traditional method was just walking through yourself – your path would vary slightly from run to run, and chances were you'd stub your toe or bump into a cabinet or step on something as you fumbled around in the dark. Tom's method was like building a robot to go get the water for you. If made correctly, it would take the same exact path and complete its task perfectly every time (provided that no one decided to redecorate the house) – but if you didn't know what robots were or how they worked, you could wait forever and never get any results at all.

In the end, ironically, Care of Magical Creatures ended up being the most enjoyable class, completely contrasting Tom's preference to stay inside and do things that _didn't _involve working his hands and muscles. Mainly because for once, the teacher was actually teaching something new to Tom that wasn't dead wrong. Like in Herbology, they were just learning about different types of magical things and their uses. Straight memorization, but with some interesting hands-on lab portions here and there. Tom could tolerate that, at least, even if he hated sun and dirt.

Still, they were only third-years, meaning that they would be stuck raising Puffskeins and other equally nonthreatening things until they were deemed mature enough to tack another X to their Ministry Creature Rating clearance level. Considering that the half of the class that wasn't him was made up of immature thirteen-year-old boys, and the other half of the class that wasn't him was made up of immature thirteen-year-old girls, that would be for a while yet.

At least it was a good opportunity to finally get a free pass into the Forbidden Forest. Kissing up to a teacher like Professor Fauna had been easier than most, because Tom was one of the few people who actually demonstrated interest in his class. Care of Magical Creatures simply wasn't a popular course because there weren't very many job opportunities there, and the few that did exist were often dangerous and didn't pay well. Most of the kids taking it now were just looking to fill up their schedules, and it happened to be the easiest one after Divination that their ultra-conservative parents approved of.

All the same, Tom didn't venture too far in there because he knew that centaurs had claimed a section for themselves, and, unlike Professor Charlatan, actually knew what they were doing when it came to predicting the future. Meaning, if they ran into him, they might very well report his true nature to the next visitor (and of the three guesses you get as to which teacher was the designated diplomat to the centaur herd, the first two don't count). They weren't bound by secrecy, unlike the Sorting Hat, and besides, Tom wasn't immortal yet. Being trampled to death or skewered by arrows was not on the top of his to-do list. Even if they supposedly didn't hurt children. He mostly kept to the outer edge as he helped Professor Fauna chart animal tracks, while also very surreptitiously taking the opportunity to sneak the occasional odd plant sample into his bags.

Tom only thanked the stars that he and Jerry had been smart enough to come up with the whole automated homework system in the first place – now also programmed to solve Arithmancy problems in the classically inefficient method – because frankly, being stupid actually took more effort than being smart, and even with a Time-Turner, Tom only had so many hours in a day.

Really, if he had his way, he wouldn't be showing up to class in the first place.

_If only I could clone myself and then make the clones go sit uselessly for an hour for me…that shouldn't be _too _hard, should it? _

_**Yeah, but then you're **_**you**_**. The clones might rebel and all destroy each other.**_

_I'll just make them of inferior intelligence. Smart enough to get through classes, but dumb enough to actually be loyal to someone else._

_**By the time you actually finish growing the clones you'll probably be out of school. Even if you used magic to speed them up so that they were born looking like you, they'll still have the experience and mental capability of a newborn.**_

_Perfect. They'll be ready to tackle sixth-year material by the time they're three._

_**What's the point? You'll only be in school for another year by then.**_

_How am I going to last until seventh year?..._

_**Simple. Reverse-engineer your little time machine, and then confess to Slughorn at the end of the year that you found taking twelve classes just way too difficult. Then you can just return the Time-Turner that the Ministry gave you, and no one will ever think that you have another one at your disposal.**_

_What if we don't finish it by the end of third year?_

_**Then I guess you'll have to suffer through twelve useless classes for your fourth year as well.**_

_Dammit, Jerry!_

_**Don't look at me like that!**_

_I wonder if the Room of Requirement can summon Time-Turners._

_**I wonder if Time-Turners are even a **_**thing**_**. As in, you know, something people can create and invent. Or is the world supply of Time-Turners limited? Like – I don't know – coal and other non-regenerating fossil fuels. Because when they were all destroyed and stuff, no one ever managed to get new ones. **_

_WHAT? They were all destroyed?_

_**Yeah. **_

_Why? _

_**I don't know.**_

_Was it a big fat accident? Or did we destroy them? Because I guess it would make sense. Can't have a bunch of random heroes trying to come back to the past to kill this young, inexperienced, and non-immortal self after all._

_**I told you; I don't know.**_

_Then how do you know they were all destroyed?_

_**I know they were destroyed somehow, because…I just know. But I can't remember how.**_

_That's nice and useless._

_**Look, why don't **_**you**_** go play in a quicksand box and let's see how well your brain still works.**_

_You had a quicksand box? I want one! I don't think someone as rich and spoiled as Lestrange ever knew the pleasures of the average playground…_

_**You never did, either.**_

_Excuse me, but while I understand the importance of developing my immune system, I will draw the line at coming into contact with pigeon refuse._

_**You're a sissy.**_

_And you're a bigger one. You were the one who told me about the pigeons in the first place. I never had a problem with being Lord of the Jungle Gym before. It's all your fault. My childhood was ruined because of you._

_**Oh, yeah…**_

* * *

BONUS #8

_Tom Freaks Out_

If Tom wasn't so impeccably in control all the time, this is what might have happened.

_Holy crap. He's giving me a portable time machine._

_**Yes. He **_**IS**_**giving you a portable time machine.**_

_To get to_ CLASSES _of all things._

**_Mmm-hmmm._**

_What. In the name. Of holy satan. _

_**Processing…**_

_**Processing…**_

_**1…**_

_**2…**_

_**3…**_

_Do you realize what this MEANS?_

_**Hmmm…do I?**_

_I DON'T UNDERSTAND! WIZARDS ARE CREATING SPACE-TIME ANOMALIES AND HANDING THEM OUT TO THIRTEEN-YEAR-OLDS AND EXPECTING THEM TO USE THEM _RESPONSIBLY _FOR SOMETHING AS SIMPLE AS _GOING TO CLASSES_ AND THEY STILL DON'T KNOW HOW TO CONJURE FOOD!_

_**Precisely.**_

_Oh. My. God._

_**I'm sorry, you were saying something about Germany invading Poland being better than this?**_

_JERRRRYYYYYYYYYY! WE HAVE A TIME-TURNER!_

_**Yes, Tommy. We do have a Time-Turner.**_

_HOW IN THE NAME OF CHRIST ARE YOU SO _CALM _ABOUT THIS!_

_**People simply deal with stress in different ways. I am regularly hyper, and so now I am calm. You are regularly calm, so now you are hyper.**_

_WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!_

_**Magic.**_

_WIZARDS. ARE. STUPID!_

_**Yes, they are, Tommy. Yes, they are.**_

_HOLY MOTHER OF JESUS! WE HAVE A TIME-TURNER! WE HAVE A FUCKING TIME-TURNER! WE HAVE. A FUCKING. TIME MACHINE!_

_**Do you even know what the word "fucking" means?**_

_WHO THE FUCK CARES? WE HAVE A FUCKING TIME-TURNER!_


	16. Respect

BONUS #9

_This should not be taken seriously AT ALL. Also, lots and lots of cussing._

Tom was bored. Or rather, Jerry was bored, which also made Tom bored. Of course, they knew that they wouldn't be bored for _long_, since there was always something going on in this messed up world of theirs, but still.

Boring.

Well, if there wasn't any preexisting trouble for Tom to get into, he'd make his own trouble.

**_Have we tried shooting a smiley face into the wall yet?_**

_Done that._

**_Have we tried drugs?_**

_Drug use is life abuse, Jerry. _

**_Oh, yeah. Say…have we tried pointing our wand at random things and saying random words and seeing what happens without even knowing what effect the spell will even have?_**

_Gee, that sounds like an amazing idea! What spell should we use?_

**_I don't know. Say the first word that comes to your mind._**

"Hello?"

He wasn't really expecting anything to happen. People said "Hello" all the time –

Suddenly, a giant rotating circumscribed star appeared in front of them. The air began trembling, and then, a massive rip opened up in their dimension. Through the tear, Tom could see all sorts of monsters, demons, devils, fire and brimstone, the works…

**_WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?_**

_HOW THE HELL SHOULD I KNOW?!_

**_MIND YOUR FUCKING LANGUAGE! THERE IS A FUCKING PORTAL TO HELL RIGHT IN FUCKING FRONT OF US RIGHT NOW AND GOD DAMMIT DO NOT TAKE THE LORD'S MOTHERFUCKING NAME IN VAIN!_**

_I'M SORRY, BUT WE JUST OPENED UP A PORTAL TO _HELL_! I DOUBT BAD LANGUAGE IS AT THE TOP OF ANYONE'S LIST OF PRIORITIES RIGHT NOW! ANYWAY IF WE'RE GOING TO GO TO HELL THEN I DOUBT IT WILL BE FOR BAD LANGUAGE! WHAT THE HELL, MAN? I DON'T EVEN BELIEVE IN GOD! _

**_WHATEVER! JUST SAY THE COUNTER-SPELL…WHATEVER THE HELL THAT IS!_**

_WHAT_ IS_ THE COUNTER SPELL?_

**_WELL, YOU NUMBSKULL, OBVIOUSLY, IF YOU SAID "HELLO" TO GET THIS…_**

"GOODBYE!" Tom yelled desperately, pointing his wand at the gap. It sealed itself and then disappeared from view.

_Oh my god. That was terrifying._

**_…_**

**_…I was actually going to say "un-hello," but "goodbye" works, too._**

_Jerry?_

**_Hmmm?_**

_You're an idiot._

**_Pot and kettle, Tom. Pot and kettle._**

* * *

_"#105. I will design all important doomsday machines myself. Any secret backdoors should be designed so that they can be used by me and only me."_

"Tom? Are you all right?"

_What is it with people being concerned about my health? _"I'm fine, Minerva. Why do you ask?"

"I just can't help but notice you look very…tired, lately. Are you sure you're not overworking yourself? You seem to be taking an abnormal amount of classes."

"Yeah, how _are _you taking twelve classes, anyway?" Pomona asked, poking his stack of books. "I see you in Divination and Care of Magical Creatures with me, but Minerva swears you're doing Arithmancy and Ancient Runes with her…"

"Look, can we just drop this subject? It's something that has to remain strictly between Professor Slughorn, Headmaster Dippet, and me. I wish I could tell you guys, but this isn't about our friendship," Tom told them sternly, knowing that if there was anything could get them to stop being so nosy, it was going to be his "serious voice". "I could get into a lot of trouble just mentioning it. So I will have to ask you, Minerva, not to go doing any research in the library trying to figure out what this is, either."

Minerva looked down and colored brightly.

"All right," Filius said, ever the peacekeeper, "we won't pry. Just make sure you get enough sleep and show up to all three meals, all right, Tom?"

Tom inwardly groaned. Neither Filius nor Pomona were the most politically minded of beings, but they, in their misplaced kindness, had inadvertently trapped Tom in continuing this course of action all the same. See, it was this exact sort of conversation that continued to ensure that Tom would eat with everyone else. If he could just shut himself in the Room of Requirement as he tried to figure out how the Time-Turner worked, and take all of his meals there, he would. But if even those two were going to make sure to make note of when he was gone, chances were a great deal of other people would start keeping tabs on him. (Heaven forbid he even _mention _what Lestrange, that little idiot, would do.)

No, it was better to start to behave more normally. Constantly doing schoolwork was one thing – Minerva was a studious type as well, even if she couldn't measure up to Tom (or, at the very least, the front that he put up, anyway), but showing up daily with dark bags under his eyes would draw some very inconvenient questions. Of course, it was likely that said inconvenient questions would be on his classes, and not the Time-Turner itself, but that didn't make his current situation any less annoying than it already was. If there was one thing Tom hated doing, it was to interact with people of lesser intelligence. And that was basically the rest of the world.

He flashed them a perfect smile. "Of course. I'm not going to let myself drop from exhaustion. I promise, I know how to balance my own life."

That seemed to satisfy them, because Minerva, Filius, and Pomona all beamed at him as if the three of them had just accomplished something totally miraculous together. Tom forced himself to link arms with them as they all skipped off into the sunset. (Well, not literally. This was Great Britain. Rainy smog season and all. There _was _no sunset. But Tom sometimes liked to think in figurative terms when he was in a funny mood. It was probably Jerry's fault.)

Tom had thought then that that had been the end of that conversation, but life just refused to give him a break. Because, of course, the next week, who else but Professor Dumbledore would call him to stay behind after Transfiguration class for a conference anyway?

_**Aw, no, no, no, NO, NO, he knows! He **_**knows**_**! GAH!**_

_SHUT UP, JERRY!_

"You haven't been around as often as you used to, Tom," he said softly.

"I'm so sorry, sir," Tom apologized profusely. "I'd love to come – I really would – it's just that – I've been so busy lately, sir."

Professor Dumbledore looked down, as if sadly. "I know you are."

Tom held up both his hands placatingly. "But I promise I'll drop by sometime, if you like – "

Professor Dumbledore held up a hand to stop him. "This isn't about me, Tom. I'm an old man, and while your presence is certainly a welcome to me, I do have other work to do, and other colleagues to interact with. But young Miss McGonagall _has _expressed worry over you. I cannot refute her claims that you seem more tired than usual."

Well, of course trying to duplicate a Time-Turner, which required extensive knowledge of its energy workings as well as its physical appearance, was an arduous task. Not that Tom was going to let on that he was having trouble with anything other than balancing his everyday academic workload.

_I hate having friends. _

_**Ah, yes. The horrors of having people care about you.**_

"I'm fine, sir – honestly."

"If that is so, then I hope you don't mind me asking a rather personal question."

"Depends on what sort of question, sir, but ask away. I am certain I won't be offended."

Professor Dumbledore pushed his glasses up the bridge of his slightly crooked nose. "Then, Tom, please tell me – how much sleep do you get every night?"

Tom cocked his head to the side.

In reality, he was getting more than eight hours of sleep a night, seeing as his day extended past twenty-four hours, but of course that was still unrealistic. No third-year was supposed to juggle twelve classes, even with an extra six hours added to his day.

"I don't know, sir. I promise, I've been sleeping enough – "

"To you, maybe. But…" Professor Dumbledore trailed off and sighed. "I do not wish to insult your Head of House, nor shake your faith in him, but let me warn you – I have known Professor Horace Slughorn for quite a while, and he is quite a…shall we say, enthusiastic and ambitious man. He can become quite eloquent with his words, should the time arise."

Tom folded his hands behind his back and nodded. "I understand that, sir."

"Pardon me for my generalizations, but energetic young men like you are often, shall we say, constantly drunk on adrenaline. Your perception of 'well-rested' and 'healthy' might be quite different from conventional definitions."

_That condescending bastard. _"Yes, sir."

"Forgive me. I just realized that last statement might have been quite condescending."

_**I told you; HE KNOWS!**_

_Ugh. Jerry. You are such a drama queen._

_**:)**_

"It's all right, sir. I understand."

"He does mean the best for you, but sometimes what both student and teacher think is the best _isn't _the best," Professor Dumbledore said. "Do you understand what I am saying, Tom?"

Tom knew, of course, that Professor Dumbledore was implying that Tom was pushing himself way too hard, and Professor Slughorn, blinded by his total admiration for Tom's genius, was misguidedly encouraging this self-destruction. But, of course, he was also thirteen, and thus took that fact into context when giving his extremely eloquent reply.

"Ummm…no?"

Professor Dumbledore sighed again. "Please don't push yourself too hard, Tom. I know you hear this from your friends a great deal, so humor an old man and allow him to repeat it to you from an adult's perspective. Finding your limit is one thing. Burning yourself out before you even graduate is another. Think carefully, Tom. I know you enjoy learning, but do you truly _need _all the courses you are taking? What do you plan to do with your future, Tom?"

"I…I wanted to become a teacher here, sir…?"

"You can only teach one subject, Tom."

"Sir – I – I understand your point, but I'm – "

" – unwilling to give up all of your courses?"

Tom hung his head in defeat. "…Yes. That."

"I see."

"They're just all so – _interesting_! Now that I've had a taste of all of them, I can't just – _abandon _one. It just doesn't seem fair – to the subject, or the teacher. I…"

Professor Dumbledore stroked his beard. "Be assured, Tom, that even if you drop the class, the professors will still have plenty of other enthusiastic pupils to pass on their knowledge to. Of course, your loss will be a great one, but you should not feel responsible of shouldering the burden of learning, as, say, the last lone apprentice of a master of an ancient art should. Our school is large and open enough with our information that we do not need such a system. As for the courses…well, might I propose a compromise?"

Tom nodded.

"If you must, spend the rest of this year exploring. But you should pick only a few that you like by the end. The ones you like, you can still study in your own time – but without the class, you can learn for pleasure, without the added pressure of exams, homework, and grades. That should save you a great deal of time and stress – and, given the way you read, you will still absorb the same material anyway. Would that seem reasonable to you?"

Of course – as long as Tom finished duplicating the Time-Turner before then. That had been his original plan. Obviously, if he dropped his extra courses without completing his research first, he'd have to turn the thing back in, and then he'd have to go through the trouble of trying to steal another one for his experiments…

Tom smiled brightly. "Of course! That's a great idea, sir! Why didn't I think of it before?"

"Well, then, if that suits you, then off you trot."

Tom nodded, and headed for the door. As he reached the threshold, a thought suddenly occurred to him. Pausing, he turned around, and asked, "Excuse me, sir?"

"Yes, Tom?"

"I'm sorry for being nosy, but what happened to Fawkes? I haven't seen him around lately." Indeed, the perch where the phoenix normally rested was empty.

Professor Dumbledore took a long, good look at the empty block of wood. He ran a hand through his graying hair. Then he answered, "Fawkes has been on a great deal of courier missions lately, hasn't he? I suppose he's a tad noticeable, but luckily enough, almost impossible to intercept when he's on the move."

Tom could only respond, "Oh."

Then he exited the room.

"Good-bye, sir," he waved politely.

"Good-bye, Tom."

_Well, thank god _that's _over. Jerry, why are they so concerned about me?_

_**It's because you're **_**such **_**a likeable person.**_

_How inconvenient._

_**I know. Unfortunately, compared to the amount of political immunity you get from having them as your so-called friends, it's a small price to pay.**_

_Almost as small as having to take TWELVE useless classes all for a stupid Time-Turner!_

And really, it was. Between the four of them – Minerva, Filius, Pomona, and him, they were the poster boys and girls for the whole school. Had Hogwarts actually been a competitive academy, and not the educational monopoly for all of magical Britain, their group would would have been on the front page of all the advertising mailers.

Once again, it was simply impossible for Tom to avoid anyone in Hogwarts, no matter how much he wished to. It was not a mistake – presenting himself as the model student had been the proper course of action – but all the same, Tom regretted its necessity, if not its execution. Pretending to be nice to the people he absolutely detested (and he pretty much hated everyone, except for himself, and maybe Jerry on good days) was taking its toll on him.

After his conversation with Professor Dumbledore, everyone in Hogwarts seemed to be paying attention to him now, as if he was some sort of porcelain figure that was liable to shatter at any moment. Or at least keel over and faint in the middle of the day.

Tom hated being pitied. Dammit, he was going to rule them all one day!

_**Look on the bright side. You can get used to their bowing and kneeling now!**_

Which technically wasn't too far from the truth.

Lestrange and his cronies were all running around, offering to get him things and waiting on him hand and foot, which would have been nice had they not been so facetious about it. The rest of his teachers seemed to be getting more and more lenient with assigning him his daily workload, too – which didn't change for him either way, seeing as all of his essays were filed according to the same format, anyway. And evidently, either Professor Dumbledore had had a word with Professor Slughorn, or one of the new generation Hogwarts Four from his group had said the same things to him as they had to Professor Dumbledore, because the man seemed especially attentive and worried about Tom, too – almost as if he felt guilty for pushing Tom into this entire setup, all the while giving him the means to do so.

Even Orion Black seemed exceptionally out of character – that is, he was actually being _nice_ – although that could have stemmed more from his desire to make Tom choose him as a sponsor and ally instead of Abraxas Malfoy. After all, given the amount of soliciting mail Tom was receiving from Malfoy the Younger alone, the other boy hadn't given up on fixing his imperial tentacles in Hogwarts yet, just because he had graduated. Not when Orion Black had another year of interaction with a certain exceptionally talented half-blood on him.

Tom didn't mind so much in the beginning. In fact, the first time was kind of funny.

_To the Honorable Abraxas Malfoy:_

_I could agree with you, but then we'd both be wrong. So you say the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black should replace their family tree with a family cactus, because everyone on it is a prick? But better than some other families we both know, at least. I hear their family tree is actually a family shrub. _

_I must admit, there isn't anything in the world that would make me like you less. You have all the virtues I despise and none of the vices I admire. Are you done comforting yourself with delusions of adequacy yet?_

_Sincerely, _

_Orion Black_

The second time was also rather amusing.

_To the Honorable Orion Black:_

_You are a person of rare intelligence. I say that, of course, in the context that it is rare that you ever show any. __I won't insult your intelligence by suggesting that you actually believe what you just said, for I have neither the time nor the crayons to explain it to you. _

_I'd like to see things from your point of view, but I can't get my head that far up my own ass. If I must be absolutely candid, I'm jealous of the people who don't know you._

_Sincerely,_

_Abraxas Malfoy_

And the third time was just silly.

_Dearest Edmond,_

_Happy Christmas and a wonderful New Year to you and your entire family._

_I got you a plant. It's to replace all the oxygen you stole from everyone else._

_With love,_

_Tom Riddle_

The tenth, eleventh, and thirtieth times?

Not so much.

(Because they were all _freaking hilarious.)_

(Though he wasn't sure if wizards knew what "oxygen" was…)

Once again, it was nice to know that the Malfoys and the Blacks, though as currently lacking in favor as they were, were both still thinking of him. Not so surprising, as currently, he was their best option left. A probable half-blood who was quite obviously popular and talented enough with the rest of the school that all of his peers would unanimously vote him in for Minister of Magic in the future, if need be. No doubt they planned to use him as a puppet for their future agenda, seeing as none of the other significant Pureblood families wanted anything to do with either of them anymore. And it was pretty much a slight to their pride, to allow the "inferior new money" Lestranges to wrestle this age-old control from them completely.

But of course, he couldn't forgive the fact that they _still _considered him second choice after all he had accomplished before their eyes (and behind their backs) – nor the fact that they were both still under the impression that he was one to be controlled by them.

God, they were all such idiots.

Tom wished he could just stop playing them against each other, and send both of them hexes in envelopes. Preferably extremely painful and permanent ones. Or even just forget using magic altogether and send them a box full of undiluted bubotuber pus.

Thinking back, maybe signing that last one to Lestrange "with love" had not been the smartest idea he had come up with…

Oh, well. Too late for regrets. His plan for the political inner circle of Magical Great Britain was moving along splendidly. Really.

Dumbledore? No.

Tom was getting a little desperate, if you couldn't tell.

Scratch that, Tom was getting _extremely _desperate. It was already his third year, and what had he accomplished but make a few idiotic, spoiled noble heirs cry about insignificant things? Sure, he had a pretty awesome map, and a few rather useful and borderline-illegal (only because there were no laws against them…yet – not that he planned for there to be any) self-created spells. But concerning the _real _meat of the matter, he hadn't even made a single step in the right direction.

Logically, Tom knew that he was actually pretty far ahead, considering that he was only thirteen and it was still the beginning of the school year – but still! A man didn't have infinite patience! Hell, if you counted the number of times the world "smite" was written in the Bible, it would appear that GOD didn't, either! So what if he got angry! It wasn't as if any brainless lawyer could outwit him, anyway, and even if he could, it wasn't as if God had any lawyers to sue him with in the first place.

_Dammit, isn't there anything these wizards are good at?_

_**Well, creating space-time anomalies.**_

_Oh, yeah. Maybe we _will _survive after all. What with our SPACE-BENDING spells and TIME MACHINES and TELEPORTATION and all that. Seriously. How is it that these guys can distort the dimensional folds to their will, and still can't figure out how a toaster works? IT'S NOT NATURAL!_

_**Tom.**_

_What?_

_**You're a wizard. You do **_**magic**_**. By all accounts, none of this is natural.**_

_That's it. I'm done. _

_**Hey, calm down – we're almost there. We've advanced pretty far.**_

_Mm-hmmm…that's like the overstatement of the century._

_**Well, since **_**you **_**insist on being a pessimistic little –**_

_Not pessimistic. Realist._

Because as far as they were concerned, no one actually knew how to make a Time-Turner from scratch. The amount of Time-Turners in the world was limited because both the glass and the sand came from the same giant crystal quartz from Atlantis or whatever that was saturated with some sort of mystical "chronological magic". For centuries, people had tried to replicate this sort of energy, and failed every single time. That particular bit of knowledge had been lost to history about the same time Atlantis had been wiped out.

The history behind the giant magical crystal of Atlantis was rather sketchy, and Tom was pretty sure that at least half the account was fabricated, but it got the general idea across. Atlantis was this mystical city floating on a man-made island in the middle of the ocean (and whoever had thought that that was a "safe" enough idea to build, move to, and stay living there deserved to sink along with the rest of Atlantis), powered by this legendary block of quartz. Then, one day, Atlantis randomly sank into the middle of the ocean.

The Wizarding governments of the world at the time had seized what bits and pieces of that giant piece of magical quartz they could before Atlantis had been destroyed completely, and ended up creating Time-Turners out of it.

Once again, Atlantis had "randomly" sunk into the middle of the ocean, and it just so happened that all the wizarding governments of the world just _happened _to have people stationed there. What a tragedy that none of them ever managed to save a single soul from the water, yet all of them managed to get their grubby paws on bits and pieces of this magical quartz thing that none of the Atlanteans would share. And the Atlanteans, in their dying moments, had pulled one right back at them: though many things had been salvaged from the wreck, from floating bits and pieces of wooden house to children's toys and books, not a single record of the creation of their magical crystal quartz had ever been found. Not even a page from a history book, or an excerpt from a legend, or even a stanza from an epic poem.

Of course, this had all happened naturally and by coincidence. According to the history textbook that had been written a hundred years after the fact, anyway.

Hmmm…

_**Seems legit.**_

_Oh, yes. Obviously._

Regardless of what really happened the day Atlantis was sieged – er, just destroyed by accident for completely supernatural reasons – the victors soon found some very apparent problems with their spoils. It concerned every single one of their respective shards of quartz – every time they melted it down or broke it apart, the quartz would lose a bit of its power. Hence the probable reason why the Atlanteans had refused to market chunks of their magical quartz, even for all of the money in the world.

Of course, they hadn't realized that particular fact until they had all already shattered it all into tiny pieces and melted it down into glass and sand for Time-Turners.

Idiots.

In any event, whether or not the history was correct, one thing was for certain – it had already been proven that the Time-Turners currently possessed by the Ministry of Magic were all on their last leg of life. If any of them were to break, they wouldn't be able to reform. Many a clumsy Department of Mysteries intern had found this out the hard way.

It would be a major shame if all but one of them were to completely shatter in one colossal freak accident.

Their main focus right now was just determining what exactly was this "magic" that could allow people to travel back in time. There was little they could do to test its nature without extracting it from the glass altogether, but of course that was impossible. And then, of course, there was all this theoretical relativity business about traveling faster than the speed of light and parallel universes that Jerry, by his own self-admission, did not understand. There was very little existing information on either subject at this point in time (no pun intended) and even less material in terms of research base.

If only there was a way to preserve the Time-Turner so that they could perform multiple tests on it without destroying it.

After that, Tom and Jerry both ended up wasting a ridiculous amount of time wracking their brains – well, brain – chasing a solution to the problem. For once, they were actually having trouble finding an answer – not because they didn't have enough ability, but because the methodology itself was flawed. No matter how hard they tried, there simply wasn't a spell that could actually pierce through the very fabric of time and space without melting his own brain in the process.

Yes, they had done the calculations. The sheer amount of energy required would be more than enough to incinerate his own wand, if it didn't destroy him first. Something like this needed an entire legion of fully grown adult wizards all pouring energy into some sort of storage sink all in tandem…

…almost like that giant legendary crystal quartz of Atlantis.

The problem was, Tom didn't have an entire island to himself, nor did he have a team of equally qualified, fully grown wizards and witches to help him.

Neither Tom nor Jerry knew whether they should be pissed off, that of all things, _this _should be so evasive, or grateful, that they had finally found something sufficiently challenging.

And no, they were not going to go into food.

Not now.


	17. Optimism

A/N: FFFFFFF YEAAAAAAHHHHH! THE 1000-REVIEW MARK! WE DID IT, GUYS! Y'ALL ROCK!

And happy Christmas/Hannukah/Kwanzaa/Winterholidays to you too, you capitalist pigs.

* * *

That winter came with an unexpected surprise. Tom wasn't quite sure what to think of it. In terms of his plans to become an Evil Overlord, it had been extremely advantageous. In terms of his personal comfort, not so much.

He had been invited over to someone else's Christmas Dinner (or, as the very upper echelons of pureblood society called it, their Winter Ball).

Or rather, multiple someones.

It had started simply enough. It had been the last Hogsmeade weekend before the winter holidays would start, and Tom had, while in some strange mood of his, opted to go with Lestrange and his fellow clowns instead of Minerva, Filius, and Pomona, or, even better yet, just lock himself up in the library or the Room of Requirement where it would be absolutely certain that no one else would bother to trespass into at this time of year.

Why had he thought something like that would be a good idea again?

Ah, yes. Because Professor Dumbledore, the bastard, was watching him.

"Tom, with the way you are performing in all of your classes right now, I am absolutely certain that you are already completely set for the first semester finals, regardless of how much you actually study. One day off surely will not affect your grade that much. Unless you and Miss McGonagall have a much more intense rivalry than you've led us to believe…?"

"Ah, no, of course not, sir. We both just agreed to do our best."

"Ah, yes. What wise young students you are. Hate never did anyone any good; it only leads to unnecessary stress. Had I been allowed to repeat my years of youth, I would have spent it working alongside my peers, instead of trying to surpass them." At this, he chuckled, as if he had suddenly been struck by some genius inside joke. "Of course – pardon my arrogance, here, but you will find that old men often like to reminisce about their days of youthful glory – the second option had never been that hard to accomplish in the first place."

"No doubt about it, sir," Tom teased him, "as long as you don't mind me accidentally mentioning to Professor Slughorn that you said that."

Professor Dumbledore smiled. "Oh, dear. I suppose I am not as wise as I think I am, then!"

"I was only joking, sir. I know you didn't mean it."

"Very well then. But back to business; I really _would _hope that this weekend, you are planning to go outside and enjoy yourself, not holing yourself up indoors, yes?" he asked.

_That had been exactly what I was planning. _

_**I told you, he KNOWS!**_

_Oh my _god_, Jerry!_

"Of course, sir."

"So if this weekend I went and checked the library at, oh, twelve o'clock, I would not see you hiding behind a mountain of books, yes? And if I asked your friends – which, it should be easy to find a few of them, as you seem to have friends everywhere – they would be able to tell me that they saw you somewhere in the village, or at least outside on the castle grounds?" the old man said pointedly.

"Yes, sir."

_**See, he KNOWS!**_

_Jerry!_

_**What?**_

_Shut the hell up._

Only, that weekend, Filius was going with another Ravenclaw girl named Miranda Goshawk (and _only _Miranda Goshawk), and Pomona wanted to have some "girl time" with the rest of her Hufflepuff friends, and Minerva was going with some other boy. He hadn't bothered to listen, which was why now he couldn't recall the name, but he remembered vaguely that it had started with an O. Os-something. Oscar? No…there wasn't an Oscar at Hogwarts currently. Maybe it was Oswald. That might have been him. Oswald Fudge.

Which had been fine with him, he supposed, even if he thought she actually hated him. Minerva had always referred to him has highly dislikable and pretentious in private. Maybe that had just been a cover-up for her true feelings about him. He knew that Augusta Moon and Ernest Longbottom had that sort of slap-slap-kiss relationship going on, too.

_**Oh, Tom, you are **_**so **_**clueless that it isn't even funny.**_

_Clueless? About what?_

_**She doesn't **_**actually **_**like him. **_

_Oh, she doesn't? So I suppose my first conclusion was correct, after all. But wait – if she doesn't like him, why is she wasting her time on him like that?_

_**It's because she actually likes a different person, and is just going out with Fudge right now to make said person jealous and notice her. **_

_Oh. Okay._

…_That's stupid. How does she even expect that to work?_

_**I suppose it has worked in **_**some **_**rare cases, which is why people keep trying it.**_

…_**But seeing as how well she and Fudge get along, chances are it'll just end up like the rest – that is, one long, miserable, and fruitless day for both of them. Plans like that **_**never **_**work out very well, as you can easily imagine; they're always bound to fail.**_

_I take it her crush isn't interested in her?_

_**Not at all.**_

_How do you know, anyway?_

_**Oh, I pick up things here and there. When you're stuck in another person's head all you **_**can **_**do is observe. I only see and hear the same things you do, of course, but I have more time to think about them. Also, we process the same information differently, so there's that, too.**_

_Ah._

_**It's a bit sad, really. She was doomed from the very beginning. **_

_I thought she was smarter than this. I guess I was wrong. My hope for the future is dwindling._

_**You will find that there are certain ages where one can get both more intelligent and more stupid simultaneously. Hopefully you never actually get to that age.**_

_I suspect she got the idea out of some silly romance novel. That girl can't learn anything that isn't in a book. One of her many weaknesses._

_**Ah, yes. Her love is very, very, very tragic.**_

_I take it her feelings are highly unrequited?_

_**Oh, you have no idea.**_

_Huh._

In any event, though, it meant that Tom was suddenly left without the three least insensible students in Hogwarts to hide behind.

It would then follow that the next most logical course of action would just be to go alone and subtly integrate himself into a quiet group of Ravenclaws (there was _always _one of their horde that had the brilliant idea to bring textbooks along so they could all steal a booth at The Three Broomsticks' and study) should someone less desirable notice that he currently had no one to socialize with and appoint themselves as the designated filler for that honored position instead.

But _no_, not a second after he had stepped foot onto the train that Lestrange's ragtag gang of thieves had descended upon him like vultures upon a rotting carcass, begging him to go with them, with the rest of Hogwarts standing by and watching him in the meantime. It was like having an octopus grab onto you while every environmental rights lunatic in the world looked on. The more you tried to escape, the tighter it held onto you, until it seemed like the only option to get it to let go was to sever the legs entirely – except that you _couldn't_, because all of those environmental rights lunatics were _still _watching and cooing at the scene like it was the most disgustingly cute thing in the world!

So now he was stuck with them for the rest of the trip.

But no, it hadn't ended there. Not long after, they had naturally invaded The Three Broomsticks along with the rest of the entire school, meaning that the rest of the entire school was there when Lestrange quite loudly and obnoxiously announced that _his _family would be the one to host this year's Massive Pureblood Yule Gala or something of that nature, now that both the Malfoys and the Blacks had fallen from favor. And, of course, blah, blah, and blah were all invited, as well as – oh my, Tom Riddle! Who was considered worthy in the more respectable societal circles, even _if _he was a half-blood orphan with no family to his name.

And who should be sitting at the table right next to them, but Orion Black and the few supporters he had left (basically, his siblings and cousins)?

Of course, someone like Orion Black couldn't let a slight like that slide, especially not from someone like _Lestrange _of all people. And so, not to be outdone, he had, equally loudly and obnoxiously, dropped an oh-so-subtle insult that whooshed right over Edmond Lestrange's sadly short-sighted head – only to crash straight into the overly upturned nose of – oh, dear – Abraxas Malfoy, who had "just so happened" to be visiting his alma mater for the weekend.

"Because we _all _know who is still the more distinguished between the two of us, even _if _they like to claim otherwise."

And, of course, the Malfoys would still be throwing their own little party, too. But only for the "cool" people. Someone as refined as _they _were certainly weren't going to shout it to the whole world, like the overly lavish Lestranges did.

"You are, of course, referring to _me_?"

Malfoys. Always one for showboating and performances. Abraxas seemed to take great pleasure in flicking his cloak so that it swept out behind him everywhere he went. Now was no exception.

The pretentious prick.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Riddle, and I hope that I will see you there. A belated invitation, unfortunately, but I hope you are not too offended. But for those of us who don't know, it is only proper to invite a stranger to such a grand event as this after no less than three winters of a good and stable friendship." He gave Orion Black an especially pointed look at that.

_Oh, Christ. Here we go again._

_**I wish wizards had popcorn.**_

_I do, too. I actually like eating popcorn. As long as it doesn't get stuck in my teeth, of course._

_**Yes, that's always the worst.**_

_Hold on. Speaking of Christ and Yule and Christmas, so why do wizards celebrate Christmas again? Weren't the Christians responsible for a lot of anti-witch things in the Middle Ages?_

_**Because Christmas is a capitalist construct so stores can sell more stuff. Just like Valentine's Day and Halloween – or, Hallow's Eve, Hallow's Day, whatever pagan holiday you want. Hell if I know; I'm just making it up. Do I look like a history major to you?**_

_I don't know; are you currently unemployed?_

…

…

…_**Daaaaamn that burn.**_

Eventually, the conversation had devolved into a spat of the worst sort. Of course, neither Orion Black nor Abraxas Malfoy were stupid enough to actually draw their wands and start dueling again, but they might as well have been, because the things that they had been saying might as well have been drawn from a poorly written newspaper serial of the worst kind. In fact, it got to the point where their catfight had ceased to be amusing and just got plain nasty, and that was when Madame Rosmerta had just decided to throw them all out.

But Slytherins were ambitious, and so, in cases like this, that translated to persistence. Not just dogged persistance, either. The way it was going, it was like werewolf level. No less than two minutes after they had returned back to the castle, Orion Black had accosted him in the corridor and tried to wheedle out a promise of attendance from him. The very next day, Abraxas Malfoy had owled him no less than ten times.

And Lestrange, of course, was Lestrange.

And to think he been worrying about his own status as a half-blood just two years ago. Even now, that was all he was, technically. Officially, he was just the inventor of those magical quills that the everyone seemed to love so much, only now making a public appearance because he was too young before. Sure, he had tripled productivity in just about every industry, while cutting down stationary costs to half its original value (here he wondered if he should start introducing a standardized keyboard to these poor souls sometime soon), but surely those were no grounds for people as pigheaded as the Slytherin old guard to accept someone like him – or the completely innocent front that he was displaying outwardly, anyway. This level of plain obsession with him was just absolutely unreal. Tom expected a great deal of respect from everyone, yes – someone working toward his intended profession _had _to be extremely self-centered, after all. But he could never afford to be egotistical to the point of insanity.

Being a neutrally aligned potential ally in a time where everyone else was desperately choosing sides had its minor drawbacks.

That still left the question of whose party he was going to attend, however, now that he had already been invited to all three. If he went to the Malfoys' dinner, he'd be insulting the Blacks, and if he went to the Blacks' dinner, he'd be insulting the Malfoys, and either way he'd be insulting the Lestranges, who were probably through with all this insinuation that they were inferior to the two previous major power holders in Magical Great Britain. But if he went to the Lestranges' party, both the Blacks and Malfoys, being the prideful peacocks they were, would be even _more _offended than the Lestranges would be. (At least, that was how he worked it out, because the Lestranges were probably more used to being looked down upon by the prior vassal families of the Malfoys and Blacks than the Malfoys and Blacks were. Then again, they could be just as idiotic and bigheaded as their son.)

And, quite obviously, responding to none of them would be major snubs to all three, and of course he wouldn't want that.

_**For the Malfoys and the Blacks, at least, very few people will show up.**_

_As much as I hate the Lestranges, they're our best chance for meeting the most amount of current people, since everybody who's anybody will be showing up to _their _thing…_

_**Of course, we'd want to drag out our decision as long as possible, to ensure that they keep trying to win our favor.**_

_With what? Fifty owls at breakfast, every single day?_

_**True.**_

_What do we want, anyway? Money? I already have that. And they can't _give _me power at this point in time – they're just empty promises. Words in the air and on paper. All they're doing at this point is bothering me._

_**But responding to none would make us a common enemy of all three…**_

_And that's the main problem, isn't it?_

_**Why don't we just tell Lestrange that we'll go to his thing, on the condition that they invite Black and Malfoy, too? It's the most logical choice, since they've already got the most people attending anyway, and technically, no one will be getting left out.**_

_I suppose. But what if they refuse? I mean, for all my importance, I'm just a half-blood genius. They could very well invite none of us._

_**Well, then, it will be a good gauge for our own importance in their eyes. Anyway, I don't think they **_**won't **_**invite the Malfoys and Blacks. They're still rich and important, even if they weren't as rich and important as they were before. If they don't show up, then oh well. Their loss. You could tell them later that you only went to Lestrange's thing because you were expecting them to show up as well.**_

_I hate pretending to like people I hate just because of reasons as stupid as this, don't you?_

_**Yep.**_

_Chances are, the Blacks and the Malfoys will agree to come, until they realize that the other side was invited, too._

_**Then hopefully we won't have to deal with either of them.**_

Unfortunately, that hadn't happened. It turned out that choosing the Lestranges was the best and the worst decision Tom could have made. The entire event, in general, had just been poorly thrown together, and even more poorly run. For example, the idiot in charge of seating had caused both feuding families – Abraxas Malfoy and his parents, plus the four-and-twenty Blacks – to end up sitting next to each other, with only – oh, guess who – Tom! to separate them, resulting in extremely awkward tabletop conversations.

The main problem was that the Lestranges definitely knew how to throw a party – said no one _ever_. It was literally just one massive display of wealth. No tact or technique or taste whatsoever. It was like a kid splashing around every color paint he wanted, even if it meant using neon orange next to lime green, just to show that he _had _paint. Hell, _Tom _could have done a better job, and _he _certainly hadn't grown up surrounded by this level of wealth and splendor.

Everyone, save for the Lestranges, was miserable.

But at least everyone was miserable together.

Which was a small comfort, but still, a comfort nonetheless.

Not that Tom still didn't consider it a waste of time, having already missed the comforts (and accompanying frustrations) of his lab back in the Room of Requirement at Hogwarts before he even arrived. Really, the only "fun" things about this excessively stuffy social engagement were a) watching the Blacks and the Malfoys snap at each other (which was starting to get old extremely quickly), and b) listening to the other guests insult their hosts.

The guests' various reactions to the grandeur, at least, allowed Tom to gauge their standings – which basically ranged from moderately conservative to so far in the right wing that they were liable to capsize the ship of state should they shift any further.

_This was such a waste of time, Jerry!_

_**Think happy thoughts, Tom. Think happy thoughts.**_

_What sort of happy thoughts _are _there in a place like this?_

…_**Um, it's good for gathering tons and tons of blackmail?**_

…

…

…_That's actually a really good idea._

_**You know that there's something seriously wrong with us when "gathering blackmail" is one of our happy thoughts.**_

_Shut up and help me pick up gossip now, will you?_

_**You don't need my help to do something like this! You don't have to **_**do **_**anything to pick up gossip! You literally just become one with the wall and make sure people ignore you!**_

Which was kind of true. Although, it was slightly harder for Tom to blend in with the crowd, since everyone seemed to want to know him. Then again, what came after the the intial shallow enthusiasm was a completely different matter.

All Tom did was stand there and look pretty while the rest of the grown-ups did the talking. As far as he was concerned, his role here was to be beautiful and mute. Occasionally, he would give his "input", if asked. That was basically rephrasing things that were already said using bigger words to make himself seem smarter than he actually was – though this was also a double subversion, since he was simultaneously pretending to be dumber than his true self, only seen by Jerry. Easy enough. Unlike Lestrange, Tom actually understood that he would get further among these "adults" by remaining silent. By "adults", of course, Tom meant the type that regarded children to be only slightly above house-elves and furniture in terms of importance.

Which Tom supposed wasn't too bad. After all, all it took was a little bit of added alcohol (and here Tom may or may not have admitted to wandlessly tripling the amount of ethanol in their glasses every so often), and they were all singing like canaries.

Really, the sheer types of things that they let slip in front of him was amazing. Tom hadn't even realized that it was possible for _that _many first cousins to be involved in romantic relationships with one another simultaneously.

What wizards needed were high-society tabloids. Now wouldn't _that _be something.

_I still say this was a waste of time. No pun intended._

_**I don't suppose you suddenly stumbled upon some sudden inspiration while socializing?**_

_How could I? That place was as mundane as hell._

_**Sometimes people get the weirdest realizations when they do boring things. After all, Albert Einstein came up with his three genius ideas while working a menial job at a patent office.**_

_Yeah, well, they weren't dangling shiny objects in front of his face or speculating whose children were actually bastards while he stamped papers now, did he?_

_**Don't tell me you were actually interested in that!**_

_What? Listening to that trash is actually fun. I deserve a way to unwind, right?_

_**Oh, I dread the day they invent crap telly.**_

_Shut up. This stuff is way better than soap operas. One, they're real, and two, they involve rich people who are highly concerned about their own reputations._

_**Isn't that the truth?**_

* * *

BONUS #10

(1000 review club; here we go!)

_The Marvelous Education of Tom Marvolo Riddle_

_**Tom, wake up! Wake up, dammit! The sun's already up!**_

_I don't think so. Go away._

_**What? Why…oh.**_

_Jerry, can you just not talk right now? Like, seriously. Shut the hell up. And go back to your little corner and amuse yourself or something._

_**Tom, this happens to everyone. No need to beat yourself up over it.**_

_Hmph._

_**Look. Tom. You're a teenager. It's perfectly normal. Everyone hits that point in their life where they suddenly get taller and start sprouting hair in strange places and stop sounding like a twelve-year-old girl.**_

_I _never _sounded like a twelve-year-old girl._

_**Thirteen-year-old boy; same difference.**_

_I_ said _g_o_ away._

_**Tom, it is my duty as a responsible guardian –**_

_Ahahaha – you're funny. Responsible. Hahaha._

_**Well, fine then. Not responsible. But there are still things that you need to know.**_

_Like what?_

_**Remember all those jokes I said you were too young for…?**_

_What does that have to do with this?_

_**Well, you see, Tom…when a man and a woman love each other very much…**_

_Love isn't real._

_**...Well,**_** fine ****then,**_** Mr. Technical, when a man and a woman**_** think _they love each other, _****or**_** when a man doesn't really love a woman and is just using her but she thinks he does, or when a woman doesn't love a man and is just using him but he thinks she does, or when neither of them love each other and they both know it but perpetuate their destructive relationship anyway for god knows what reason...**_

_Oh, boy, here we go._

**_Blah blah blah. First, they show affection by hugging on a bed. Then, the man puts his [CENSORED] in the woman's [CENSORED], although in certain cases the woman can [CENSORED] [CENSORED] [CENSORED] if she is a [CENSORED] or has a [CENSORED]. _**

_Wait, what? They put their WHAT in their WHAT?_

**_Quiet, Tommy, the grown-ups are talking. _****_Then, when the man [CENSORED] he [CENSORED] [CENSORED] into the woman's [CENSORED], resulting in - well,_****_ I think I've told you about deuterostomes before, right?_**

_THAT'S how babies are made?!_

**_In simplicity, yes. In practice, however, the _****_use of [CENSORED] is always necessary. Also, the concept of [CENSORED], as well as [CENSORED], which most [CENSORED] and [CENSORED] in fiction seem to ignore. Now, going into detail, the man starts by [CENSORED] [CENSORED] [CENSORED], although the woman can take that role, too, though most people prefer for her to start by [CENSORED] the man's [CENSORED] while [CENSORED] [CENSORED] [CENSORED] in a [CENSORED] while the man takes a [CENSORED] up his [CENSORED]. Meanwhile, it is recommended for the man to [CENSORED] [CENSORED] [CENSORED] [CENSORED] [CENSORED]. Then they -_**

_JERRY! NO! SHUT UP; I _JUST _WOKE UP AND IT IS TOO EARLY FOR THIS STUFF –_

**_Oh, stop being so melodramatic. It brings joy to the world._**

_How the hell does that bring joy to the world?_

_**Well, Tom, many people undergo said ritual without the purpose of reproduction in mind, so occasionally they will enhance the whole experience at the cost of decreasing the chances of fertilization by partaking in such wonderful things as [CENSORED], [CENSORED], and [CENSORED], just for the sake of it. **_

_...Oh my god…So…So – that's what – _that _means –_

_**Yep.**_

_And – all those jokes you've been telling me since –_

_**Yep.**_

_And all that stuff I was "too young for" – _

_**Yep.**_

_And –_

_**Yep.**_

_So –_

**_**Yep. **_****_Speaking of which, you should check out the kamasutra at some point in your life._**

_...What's the kamasutra? _

**_A cultural classic of the Indian civilization. Here are a few of my favorite pages: [mental image]. _****_Anyway, once you've gotten over the basics -_**

_You call THOSE basics?_

**_\- you can start on the *really* fun stuff. For example, _****_[CENSORED] [CENSORED] [CENSORED] __while [CENSORED] in a [CENSORED] and [CENSORED] _**_**with their [CENSORED] while putting their [CENSORED] up a [CENSORED], or into a [CENOSRED], sometimes even more than once. Then, there's the wonderful world of [CENSORED], [CENSORED], and [CENSORED], and even better yet, all three at the same time. **_**_Of course,_**_** since we're open-minded, progressive, equal-opportunity employers who don't exclude or discriminate against potential workers because of their personal lives, we also have to address the case of two men or two women or a [CENSORED] – and I suppose if you technically want to be as **_**thorough **_**as possible, we should also take the case of inter-species interactions as well, which, depending on whether you're Welsh or Japanese, would involve [another mental image] –**_

AAAAHHHH! No! NO! GOD, PLEASE, NO! I'VE BEEN SCARRED FOR LIFE! JERRY, WHY? _HOW IS THAT EVEN LEGAL?!_

**_It isn't. Not yet, anyway._**

Tom curled up into the fetal position and started whimpering. _Oh, GOD! __I DID NOT NEED TO KNOW THAT!_

_**Actually, you kind of do. Because a good Evil Overlord must be prepared to face all things, and this is one of them. How embarrassing would it be, if you were defeated because someone tried to show you the ever-infamous [CENSORED], or the [CENSORED], or 2 [CENSORED] 1 [CENSORED], or even [CENSORED] with feet. People also [CENSORED] [CENSORED] [CENSORED] [CENSORED] for fun. Sometimes, people even pay other people to [CENSORED] on their [CENSORED]. Or even [CENSORED] them. **_**_I shit you not._**

_Why would they even DO that to themselves? Wouldn't that hurt?_

**_That's what makes it fun. ;)_**

_What the hell? You're lying! That's physically impossible!_

_**No I'm not. By the way, did you know that [CENSORED] **__**[CENSORED] **__**[CENSORED] **__**[CENSORED]?**_

_That stuff is REAL? And I'M in it? What the hell? No way -_

**_Oh, you sweet summer child. You should know by now that to the fangirls, _nothing _is impossible._  
**

_I'm pretty sure that yes, it_ is_ impossible!_

**_You think that's bad, just wait until the internet is invented._**

_Internet, schminternet! I do not have a uterus! It _IS TOO _physically impossible for me to carry a fetus! What does Urban Dictionary have anything to do with it? __And what the heck? Who comes up with this stuff? Vampires burn in sunlight; they DO NOT SPARKLE! A title as cool as 50 Shades of Gray should be reserved for a coming-of-age novel involving deep social commentary, racism, ethical dilemmas, and a profound debate on the wholly relative nature of good and evil, hence the bit on "shades of gray", not...holy h__ell, I thought My Immortal was actually something on immortality - oh my god... 'Jesus and Hitler: A Romance'? THAT IS A REAL THING?_

_..._

_..._

_...**So. ****In conclusion, you put your [thingy] into her [you-know-what] and [do it]. Understand?**_

_...Fuck you, Jerry!_

_**Exactly!**_


	18. Meaning

A/N: Ummm...sorry for the slow update? I'm a horrible multitasker. Turns out I can't balance even two stories at once.

* * *

BONUS #11

_The Life of Jerry, Part 3_

Um. So. You know what I said before, with the drug overdoses and the fire and the getting shot stuff? That was a lie. Yeah, I know. Look, I don't like talking about how I died, okay? It's absolutely idiotic. So please don't push me on the subject; it's very, very, very stupid. Please. Stop it. No, I mean it, stop _asking _-

Ugh. _Fine_. I'll tell you the truth. It's actually the truth this time. Yes, I promise. Can you not? Please?

This happened when I was nineteen. I was doing my post-doctoral studies at - Yes, that's right. I was one of _those _kids. Shut up and let me talk, okay?

A nineteen old Ph.D., and he can't even figure out how to operate a microwave oven.

To be fair, it was a really old and badly built one from the Soviet era. I didn't even recognize it was a microwave oven. I thought it was one of those ugly old cathode-ray tube televisions that had been cannibalized for spare parts. There's still conflicting information on if microwave ovens were banned in the USSR or not. And um - yeah. It blew up in my face.

Shut up.

Seriously, stop laughing!

Ugh...

Well, you know what they say. In Soviet Russia, microwave cooks _YOU!_

_Now _can you see why I didn't want to tell you the truth about how I died?

Yeah. Hm. Darwin Awards, anyone?

* * *

Months of tinkering with the Time-Turner had passed, and they were no closer to understanding how it worked than at the beginning of the year. It didn't matter that Minerva, Filius, and Pomona were no longer nagging him about taking care of himself, or that Professor Dumbledore and Professor Slughorn both seemed more accepting of his current lifestyle, or that Lestrange had since resigned himself to be a much less annoying silent shadow after he realized that Tom was only kinder to him if his mouth was shut.

The fact that the things that _really _mattered – that is, the Time-Turner – had not yet been solved, while his ridiculous, unimportant, and overall completely screwed up relationships with those around him _were_, only made things that much worse. Even if it came with Lestrange finally being quiet for once. He would rather have his own Time-Turner, not one that would have to eventually be returned to the incompetent pencil pushers at the Ministry, than a silent Lestrange. Unfortunately, administering a good hard slap to the face was a lot easier than taking apart a highly volatile little hourglass.

_**Okay, so maybe try moving the probe over there – uh-oh –**_

_GAH! Dammit, Jerry, we nearly broke the thing!_

_**Oh, god. Whoops. It's not broken **_**yet**_**, though, right?**_

_Well, no. I suppose not. But this isn't going to work, is it? And it's too small for your RADAR feedback method to display properly…anyway, it only tells us _what _is working, not what it _is _or how it works._

_**Yes. Hm. That **_**is **_**a problem.**_

_I thought you had a bunch of brilliant ideas. Where's that genius now?_

_**Why don't **_**you **_**come up with something, hmmm?**_

Someone _is being just a little bit salty today._

_**Pot and kettle, Tom. Pot and kettle.**_

Obviously, this recent development did not suit well with Tom, ever the impatient perfectionist, one tiny bit. Perhaps a bit more unexpectedly, however, it suited Jerry, who normally liked to sit back and laugh and maybe provide some comic relief by voicing Tom's anger aloud through highly entertaining interjections, even _less_.

Normally Tom, being the younger and less experienced of the two, was more affected by failure than Jerry, who displayed a rather flippant attitude about everything. But when it came to the Time-Turner, the negative sentiment seemed to manifest itself much more strongly in Jerry than in Tom, and so this became one of those rare times in which he was actually the angrier one of the two. And boy, did Tom feel it. Not physically, of course – Jerry simply didn't have that kind of power, nor could he control Tom's thoughts or actions (though it was obvious that he was trying his hardest to influence Tom) – but bad moods, like laughter, were contagious, and unlike the rest of the population, Tom couldn't escape Jerry no matter where he went.

See, Tom was more bothered by the lack of a solution. Jerry, well…

_**Dammit, Tom! I **_**know **_**the answer to this! I **_**know **_**there was a definite and highly simple solution! I just can't remember it!**_

His malaise was a different matter entirely. Jerry might have _acted _"fine" most of the time – if you considered being the hyperactive and loud one of the two to contrast Tom's cool and cold demeanor (although which one of them carried the "idiot" label to the other's "sane man" label could be debated depending on the situation) "fine" – but it was clear that this was a sort of breaking point to him.

And, since his idiocy was rubbing off on Tom, too (who _also _had this problem to deal with, in case Jerry hadn't forgotten, the self-centered bastard), it was also a breaking point for Tom.

_Well, that's a fat load of help, isn't it! Memorize a bunch of stupid dates and physics equations and you can't even figure out how to make a stupid mind-control spell!_

_**Shut up! It would be a lot easier for me if you were a little more supportive!**_

_Fine then! What the hell is someone with a shitty memory like yours doing in MY head, anyway?_

_**I'd like to see YOU keep your head together AFTER IT'S EXPLODED ALL OVER THE SIDE OF A BRICK WALL!**_

…_I thought you said you died after you got hit by a truck._

_**Well, SORRY for not being able to remember anything!**_

_I hate you, Jerry._

_**I know. **_

_You're a right asshole._

_**I know.**_

_**I know.**_

…_**I know.**_

If Tom thought that Jerry had been bad before, he only got worse as time went on. Tom really didn't know what to do about it. He had never seen Jerry this moody or angry before – everything deviant from "happy-go-lucky" was usually either feigned offense or fake crying. Jerry was the cheerful one between the two of them. And also, usually, the idea man and the voice of logic. Tom was the detail man and the voice of calmness.

Now it was like they had been switched around. Tom was the one placating Jerry's anger, and Jerry was the one getting angry about nothing at all.

Really, Tom could understand. He wasn't a very sympathetic or emphatic individual in terms of emotions, but he knew the feeling of frustration as well as anyone else.

Jerry had never revealed much about himself, so Tom still had a lot of blank spaces when it came to describing his not-quite-alter ego. But from Jerry's completely out-of-character behavior (or was it actually in-character, with the stupidly happy psychopathic man-child Jerry as his "mask" finally cracked, like how Tom used his polite and perfect student persona to get away with his true, darker side?), Tom could easily deduce that what he _did _know about Jerry, and what Jerry told him directly, did not correlate perfectly.

_**God, Tom. I hate this. I hate it here.**_

_Sucks, not being able to leave, huh?_

_**I guess it could be worse. We clash, but we still fit in that dysfunctional way of ours. **_

_Jerry, are you ever going to go back to normal?_

_**Define "normal".**_

_What you pretend to be most of the time. What I'm used to._

_**Maybe, kid.**_

Jerry had never lied to Tom about the world, and Tom hadn't really found any evidence to the contrary yet, so he'd give Jerry the benefit of the doubt in that aspect. But when it came to _himself_, Tom _knew _that Jerry was obviously lying. Both of them knew. And so there was no point in correcting him or pushing any further.

The only thing that Tom _did _know about Jerry was that he had once been a man. Possibly a rather terrifying one, too, despite his initial silliness. Judging from Jerry's entire purpose in life, now that he no longer had control over the body of his own – that is, influencing the one whose body he inhabited to basically go do his bidding of taking over the world, he was not an absolute moron, despite Tom's insistence on calling him so.

Once again, there was no point in taking the energy to contradict something they both knew was a complete and utter lie. Like with anyone else, Tom was completely willing to humor pretense for the sake of convenience, as long as he wasn't actually sucked in to the lies himself. Tom was very good at spotting liars. He lived with one of the best inside his head, after all. There was no way that you grew up with someone like Jerry without picking up a few tricks here and there. Lying was just a fact of life; it was unreasonable to expect him to give it up just because some idiot wrote down that lying was _wrong_ in a poorly translated book some two thousand years ago.

Tom didn't mind Jerry influencing him in that manner, which was why he had never bothered resisting (or maybe it was because Jerry was just so _good _at what he did that Tom _thought _he didn't mind). Whatever the case, Tom had been geared for this since was born, practically – and anyway, world domination wasn't such a bad fate. All parents did the same to their kids on some level – a striking number of people went after the same profession that their parents had. What was it to Tom, who was going to fulfill Jerry's unaccomplished dream? At least Jerry wasn't completely abusive, right?

Did manipulation count as abuse? Some would consider it so, even if it was for a "good" cause, like promising a kid candy if he stopped wetting the bed for one whole week and used more proper and sanitary methods of waste disposal instead. Tom wasn't sure for his case, where the line blurred even more. Tom was always aware that everything Jerry did to him – or did _for _him – was manipulation on _some _level.

Rather than crying and fighting, Tom had simply accepted the useful presence and used it for his own benefit. After all, manipulation entailed _some _form of payback – at the very least, the _illusion _that what they wanted you to do was good for you. It was slightly different from just mere punishment, which Jerry was incapable of as a mere nonphysical entity – a permanent tenant in Tom's head, if you will. Was Tom weak for "giving in" to Jerry, or was he clever for using the situation to his best advantage? He liked to think it was the latter, since a) removing Jerry from his head was an even more unthinkable thing than accomplishing – whatever they were trying to do this time, and b) everything he had done so far on Jerry's orders _had _helped him, and by that Tom meant that there was physical proof that he was better off than he used to be before he followed said suggestion.

And c), though he would never admit it out loud, _or _in his head to Jerry…

…he couldn't imagine what things would be like without Jerry around.

Maybe Jerry _was _the most manipulative bastard ever, making Tom dependent on him like this. But – no. He _wasn't _dependent on Jerry, dammit. Life would be difficult if Jerry suddenly disappeared, yes. He _might _be a little lonely without someone of equal intelligence to speak to him, to confide in and plot with while still remaining confident that no eavesdropper could possibly hear them. But he wouldn't keel over and die. He'd get used to Jerry's absence, just like he had gotten used to Jerry's presence as a child, and move on.

Tom just hoped that they found a way to make the mind-control mark soon, because if they didn't, Jerry would just absolutely drown in his own neurotic memory gaps, and possibly drag Tom down along with him.

_**I – I just need a trigger. Something. Something, to refresh my memory. I know that a solution exists.**_

_I know that!_

_**I know you know!**_

_Then what did you say _that _for?_

_**I –**_

_Look. Jerry. Let's just calm down for a second._

_**Agreed.**_

_Do you have any ideas? Anything? At all?_

_**I just remember that…the answer will come to us. In a very simple, but very, very stupid way. I can almost – find it – if only…**_

And then all of a sudden, the answer hit them one day.

_How _do_ you know that answer exists, anyway? Was this something created from the future?_

_**Yes. Yes, it was. If only…**_

_Who…?_

But Tom never found that out, because Jerry picked that exact moment to remember.

In Ancient Runes, of all classes.

Tom always knew when Jerry hit inspiration for a long-unsolved problem, because he always prefaced it with the same seven words.

_**Oh. My. God. We are SO stupid.**_

Not that Tom _enjoyed _those seven words in particular.

_Shut up! We figured out how to do Arithmancy the proper way in only five minutes, while those idiots with robes and pointy sticks are still floundering around after centuries!_

_**It doesn't matter! Look at us! All this time, we've been wondering how we could duplicate the chronological energy in a Time-Turner without allowing any of it to dissipate or escape into the environment, and the answer was right in front of our faces! **_

_Stop exaggerating for effect, and spit it out, will you?_

_**Runes! Don't you see? Ancient Runes! The magical equivalent of a step-up transformer!**_

…But he was willing to deal with them if it meant some genius idea would come their way

Yes, Ancient Runes was a stupid class, as was everything other class (though Tom thought most things were stupid anyway).

But Ancient Runes was also a very powerful _subject_, and that was more important than any dumb _class _Hogwarts could offer.

It wasn't all the shapes or the symbols or whatnot – spells were faster and took less energy to use than Runes, hence the reason why they were a mainly lost art except to crazy intellectuals like Professor Babbling and her colleagues.

No, it was the _method _in which Runes were applied that caught their attention.

The power of Runes was that it carried magic in its written application – in ink, in blood, in stone carvings. Though wand-based spells were much faster and more convenient, runes didn't produce the same level of energy interference that spells did – not to mention they lasted much, much longer. With the right designs, they might even remain forever, as demonstrated by Permanent Sticking Charms, which actually required the caster to burn a rune onto the surfaces of contact.

By putting a preservation field around their Time-Turner, layered with some amplication transformers, and with a third set of expansion and storage runes to capture that energy, they could increase the amount of force they had to work with. While Time-Turners always normally radiated their own energy, the ephemeral nature of time magic meant that it would dissipate into the surrounding environment almost instantaneously. Tom's runes basically ensured that that energy would stay put long enough for human levels of observation. Not only that, but because of the concentration effect provided by the amplification runes, especially if he coiled them around and on top of each other, he could potentially make a stronger time machine than the original. The wizards of ancient times, obviously, were not able to do this, because they didn't have the means to design the runes themselves (and spells were too unpredictable and fleeting for a purpose as delicate as this).

But with the right combination of modifiers – and it really wasn't anything that complicated, for they were really only tweaking the existing powers – they could perform feats that normally required ridiculous amounts of manpower. It was just like getting ten guys to push a brick, versus one guy using a lever that could multiply his input force by ten.

Their work progressed extremely quickly after that. Once again, Tom marvelled at the fact that everything always seemed to happen at the end of the year. It was like some mysterious force had planned this all for the sake of convenience…

_Say, Jerry, I have a question._

_**Yes, Tom?**_

_Why are all Time-Turners designed like an hourglass? Is there no other way to tell time? Did they really destroy – ahem – witness the destruction of Atlantis _that_ long ago that they didn't even have – I don't know, adjustable sundials?_

_**I'm pretty sure that the ancient Greeks, Chinese, and Mesoamericans had already invented those things long before medieval Europe even came up with the idea of hourglasses.**_

_Then why are they still using these painfully inefficient units? The energy works in the same way no matter how you arrange it, right? The only reason why these Time-Turners were even shaped was to help people control how much they used each time…wouldn't an angle map and a needle have worked in the same way?_

…_**Because wizards are stupid and backwards.**_

_I thought you'd say that._

_**I guess having a Time-Watch or whatever would be a lot more convenient and accurate than a simple little hourglass. **_

_Here's to hoping that we didn't miss something major in this and end up destroying ourselves._

But, really, was there anything that difficult in just building seals to capture energy from the regular Time-Turner and affixing it to a different surface? It didn't even have to be glass and sand – Tom had tested it himself. Anything would have done, as long as the energy had some sort of solid object to stick to before it escaped everywhere. In fact, glass was actually a rather bad choice, because it was an amorphous, brittle solid with a relatively low melting point – compared to, say, actual quartz crystals. Why people hadn't just kept the original thing as quartz instead of melting it down into glass was something that Tom still didn't understand. Maybe the whole Atlantis story was a lie after all. The point was, the number of Time-Turners in the world was limited (up until now at least) and once upon a time, they all had come from an original source that _hadn't _resembled the modern hourglass form before some idiot decided that reshaping them had been a good idea.

After many rather tiring experiments (involving a lot of data tables that took into account factors such as resistance to tensile, torsional, and compressional stress, melting point, hardness, crystal structure, conductivity or lack thereof, etc.), Tom had determined that the best "sinks" for this sort of energy all happened to be extremely durable solids. The most important factor, in the end, had turned out to be molecular stability – meaning that diamond was, once again, the ideal substance. Excluding man-made structures like carbon nanostructures and the like, of course.

Hm. How convenient was it, that he knew how to conjure highly dense graphite and perform massive pressure spells…

_**You know what would be better than a watch, though? **_

_What?_

_**A digital watch. **_

_What's that?_

_**It actually tells you the time written out in numbers, so you don't have to estimate how far between the markings the hour and minute hands are. **_

…_I suppose you want me to put a timer and a stopwatch on there, too?_

_**And a time zone converter, and an alarm. If you can. Which you can.**_

_You don't think people will ask about this new thing on our wrist?_

_**Dude, it's okay. We're **_**not **_**going to be showing off a diamond watch to the public. It's going to be as invisible and password-protected and literally permanently attached to our wrists like our magic map.**_

Tom skipped over to Professor Slughorn and dropped every single elective except for Care of Magical Creatures and Arithmancy the very next day. Sure, it didn't look _as _good as taking both Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, but he didn't need to prove himself to anybody. He wasn't going to take up a Ministry job, or work for Gringotts or some dingy shop, and Hogwarts teachers were only required complete mastery of the five basic subjects, plus their own. It wasn't as if he found any challenges in this painfully mediocre system. For any class, the homework was easy enough to make up, what with his automatic essay and answer generator and all, and the tests were even more ridiculous.

Besides, he needed an excuse to have permission to go out into the Forbidden Forest, and that meant staying on friendly terms with the highly unappreciated Professor Fauna. Not that it held very much use compared to the Room of Requirement, but still – it was nice getting familiar with regularly uncharted territory, in case something ever went wrong.

In all honesty, he only kept Arithmancy because taking a course like Care of Magical Creatures in combination with, say, Muggle Studies or Divination would be highly uncharacteristic of him. It was tied with Ancient Runes as the most challenging course in Hogwarts, which would look good on his transcripts, not because he was planning to show them to any prospective employers, but because a student like him was expected to take at least one of the "classes of death", or else they would start asking questions and worrying over him not reaching his full potential. It was already bad enough that he wasn't taking both Arithmancy and Ancient Runes like Minerva was (that little overachiever, making everyone else look bad in comparison!) – but at least he had Filius, who was taking Ancient Runes and Divination, to back him up.

"Tom, I understand why you're dropping your extra three courses, but why aren't you taking both Ancient Runes and Arithmancy? You're doing quite well in them even now, and I'm sure you will be able to handle the workload…"

…_**aaaand I called it. I so totally called it.**_

_Yes, I'm sure you did, Jerry._

"I know, sir, but I actually _like _Care of Magical Creatures. I've been told I need to go outside more, and I don't play Quidditch. Concussions and broken bones don't suit me very well, you see. I'm quite allergic to pain."

"Ah, yes. Quite a pity. Well, if you truly do enjoy the class, then I don't fault you for wanting to take it…hmmm…"

"If it troubles you, sir, I can't self-study Care of Magical Creatures, but I _can _self-study Ancient Runes. Arithmancy – well, I suppose I might, but that would be rather dangerous without expert supervision, yes?"

"Oh! Well, in that case, that's a very bright idea indeed! Say, Tom, do you plan to take any O.W.L.s in those subjects, even if you're not taking the class?"

"Maybe, if I feel ready. I care more about the information and skills I draw from those classes than a stamp on a piece of paper."

"Ah, yes. The true meaning of education. Sometimes I wonder if you should have gone to Ravenclaw. I find myself very lucky that you ended up in my house, Tom; very lucky indeed…"

You get the picture.

Anyway, he considered Arithmancy the easier to sail through of the two. Mainly because the students were _expected _to work extremely slowly and always have errors in every problem – giving Tom plenty of time to let his mind wander into more valuable intellectual territory. With Ancient Runes, you were usually expected to sit there, translate texts, and (god forbid) _read out loud_. That was enough to drive any sane man mad.

The only thing that annoyed Tom slightly about this whole affair was that while he understood how to transfer the energy, and how it worked, he still didn't know what it was or why it existed or how it was even generated. It was like gravity – something that was _there_, except you didn't know why. Except that gravity didn't just seemingly disappear into nothing. (The matter of whether or not it poked holes in space-time was something that Tom refused to get into at this point.)

That, and the fact that using a Time-Turner didn't stop his aging. It accelerated it, if anything. Because of his extended day-to-day use of the machine – since Tom consistently added on six hours to every day – it meant that he was getting older 25% faster than everyone else. Perhaps now it wouldn't be such a problem, since he was still young, but if he didn't come up with some immortality ritual soon he'd have to cease the over-usage of his time machine.

But, all other things considered, Tom was still walking around with a time machine attached to his wrist. Naturally, that summer, Tom went home exceptionally pleased with himself.

The events that followed, however, were not so enjoyable. And no, he wasn't talking about that three-way tug-of-war that was occuring between the Blacks, Malfoys, and Lestranges over him (Black and Malfoy because they desperately needed a new pawn, now that all their old ones had defected, and Lestrange because he was very unwisely obsessed with someone more dangerous than he could ever fathom) that resulted in yet another set of horrible invitations – this time to spend the summer at their "manor homes".

Maybe he should have taken that chance when it was offered – no. Tom would not take charity. And he would not have any regrets.

May tenth happened. Winston Churchill was sworn in as Prime Minister. A little less than a month after that, Tom was sent back to London.

_I'm going to beat this racket. I will, _Tom vowed to himself, as the disgusting, dirty, smelly little ones from the orphanage nursery howled for their reduced share of powdered ration milk.

_**You don't know how right you are about that statement.**_

As usual, Tom pestered Jerry for an explanation, but unlike usual, Jerry's silence was solemn and not teasing.

One month and ten days later, as RAF fighter planes twenty times as loud as all of the orphan brats in Wool's combined zoomed back and forth over London twenty four hours a day, every day of the week, Tom couldn't help but reflect on the irony. The Second Great War had finally arrived at his doorstep, and while Tom had played a huge role in starting it, he was now as powerless as any other orphan was to stop it.

The Battle of France had ended, and the Battle of Britain had begun.


	19. Truthfulness

**A/N: Apologies for the very slow update. I don't really have any excuses.**

* * *

_"#139. __If I'm sitting in my camp, hear a twig snap, start to investigate, then encounter a small woodland creature, I will send out some scouts anyway just to be on the safe side. If they disappear into the foliage, I will not send out another patrol; I will break out the napalm."_

_"P.S. This also applies to spiders."_

* * *

_Grindelwald is a bitch._

_**You got that right.**_

Tom sighed and blew the hair out of his eyes as he listened to the window-panes tremble in their frames. There hadn't been any bombs or fire – yet – but war was a painfully inconvenient thing all the same. Every single factory in London was currently making _something_, and while it was good news for his investments, it was the complete opposite for his ears.

Never before had their end of the street been so unbearably earache-inducing. London was a large city, and naturally busy at any hour of the day, but there hadn't been so many machines operating all at once since before the Great Depression.

Tom might be able to make himself temporarily deaf occasionally, but he certainly couldn't shut down an entire sense _all _the time. Not after Jerry's story about dying while he was passed out. Lie (probably) or not, it was still a completely legitimate and stupid way to get killed. Vaguely Tom wondered if anyone would notice him putting silencing charms over every factory in the city. The wizards would probably figure it out in a heartbeat, since they were already used to the existence of abnormal things, but the Muggles were not, and might shut down production to figure out why all the machines were so quiet all of a sudden.

Which was not good for the war. Tom didn't particularly care who lived and who died, but he preferred Britain to remain unconquered, since, you know, being on the losing team usually wasn't a good idea. Especially when the Nazis were involved. Not that he couldn't conquer the world even when part of the oppressed group, but having his plans set back by about a decade or so because some self-important prick who thought he was better than everyone else included _Tom_ in his definition of "everyone else" was just so sorely inconvenient.

Really, to think that people were so insecure about their own self-worth that they'd rely on such an abstract concept as race to boost their own standing.

The White Man's Burden.

The Master Race.

Pathetic.

_After all, we're so far ahead of them that any sort of superiority claim is impossible, right?_

_**Yep!**_

This war, in general, was excessively tedious. Perhaps not for the people who were actually out there fighting, and perhaps not for the colonized nations whose fates were being decided by the outcome of this massive imperialist spat, certainly. But seeing as they were going to either be killed or enslaved as members of a vassal state, anyway, the result would be more or less the same. A shame that certain countries would forever be stuck in poverty, but it was their own fault for not industrializing early enough. If it hadn't been for the fact that having such a long, drawn-out conflict could effectively result in tons of weakened countries ripe for internal conflict and external domination, Tom would have started plotting Adolf Hitler's supposed suicide a long time ago.

Unfortunately, Tom would just have to deal with the constant sound of overproduction for now. And while that by itself wasn't too bad, karma just _had _to add insult to injury. Because on top of that, currently, everything, from oil to metal to cloth to food, was in short supply, and even without Jerry's so-called "futuristic foresight", he was very well aware that something like this would only get worse as the war dragged on.

It just had to. A conflict of this scale would disrupt shipping lines everywhere, regardless of whether the merchants involved were citizens of the belligerent countries or not.

So far, only petrol and "luxury" food items like milk or sugar products, meat, and eggs were being rationed, but that didn't mean that other everyday items weren't growing increasingly inaccessible. Prices all across the board had shot up, and, unfortunately, funding for the orphanage hadn't. While the other orphans had had time to gradually get used to it over the year, Tom hadn't had a taste of the war since the start of September when it first broke out. Reading about rationing in Muggle London in the newspapers while enjoying a completely normal meal at Hogwarts was completely different from actually experiencing it.

It was definitely going to be one long and miserable summer.

…For everyone else, at least.

Because, like with most other things, Tom always found a third option out.

There were certain perks that came with being a wizard, and not being subject to shortages was one of them. Sure, imported citrus and tropical fruits had completely disappeared from the local stands, but as far as he was concerned the local distributors in Diagon Alley were still passing out their daily bread, eggs, and milk like nothing was wrong. For all the faults the technologically backwards wizards possessed, they seemed to have greater wartime luxuries than anyone else. Magically created food cost next to nothing to make, because the food exception rule didn't apply to _increasing _the amount, so as long as they didn't give everything away for free, they'd still be making a profit.

It made Tom wonder why the wizards didn't just start flooding the market with all this stuff, or, better yet, just start prowling the black markets like he was (not personally, of course – his mind-controlled chains of middle-men existed for a _reason_). Surely, there had to be Muggle-born wizards who knew what was going on, too.

Really, the things people would do for their afternoon tea.

_Welcome to Great Britain._

_**Where the scones reign supreme.**_

_Say, Jerry?_

_**What is it, Tom?**_

_Is selling magically duplicated food to Muggles considered a breach of the International Statute of Secrecy if they don't know the food was magically conjured? I mean, food is food, right? It's not like we're giving them teapots that can pour themselves._

_**You know what, I have no idea.**_

_Oh. All right._

_**I mean, what's the point, as long as they don't catch us?**_

_True. It's not as if we ever obeyed the law in the first place, anyway._

_**What was the fake name you put the hidden accounts under again?**_

_Sally Zarre, of course._

_**Are you kidding me?**_

_Pffft. Yeah. I'm not _that _stupid._

_**Good.**_

_I used "Godric Gryffindor" instead._

_**WHAT?**_

_**Oh, wait, you were just joking.**_

_**Crap, you're LEARNING.**_

_**...Shit.**_

_I've BEEN learning since you appeared in my head. That is, since I was BORN._

_Nitwit._

**_Oi, shut up. That just means you're finally agreeing that my sense of humor is the most amazing one around._**

_Whatever._

**_Seriously, though, what did you call yourself?_**

_James Smith._ _Duh._

The only thing that Tom was still just a little mad that he couldn't just make things out of thin air.

Tom didn't know whether or not he should consider the dreaded "food rule" as entertainment or not. Certainly, Jerry wasn't responding as negatively to it as he was to the whole Time-Turner fiasco, so it wasn't as headache-inducing. But considering the fact that they had spent their entire existence as a wizard pondering this (in comparison, figuring out the Time-Turner had only taken a few months), Tom was wondering why he wasn't more incensed about it.

Most likely because Jerry had known the answer to the other issue, and just couldn't remember it (memory, in general, was a touchy subject for Jerry, in contrast to Tom's perfect retention) – whereas on this, he was simply completely lost. Jerry was unpredictable like that. The only other living creatures that he could say the same for were Professor Dumbledore and his phoenix, the former of whom currently did not view him as a threat (he hoped), and the latter of which he hadn't seen head nor tail of since that day he made himself purposely deaf to its singing.

But it wasn't as if Tom considered himself a _bad _person. He wasn't making excuses for himself, like what a lot of book villains did to justify their actions - he honestly just didn't _have _a sense of good or bad. How could anyone judge him on his sense of morality if he had none? He only did things, as Jerry said, "because reasons". He wasn't averse to hurting people, but he didn't do it when he didn't need to because it brought him no joy or purpose.

He was neither pure of heart nor evil. Just mildly self-serving.

Also, he wanted to conquer the world, but that was just for the fun of the challenge. Tom honestly had no idea what he was going to with all his minions once he _did _conquer the world. Let everyone go about their daily lives, maybe, and meanwhile, he would sit in secret self-satisfaction at having accomplished his goal. And then look for some other planet in the universe to bring under his domain.

Of course, he couldn't do any of that in the first place if he didn't figure out the secrets of the universe first.

_**You know, Tom, maybe we're going about this the wrong way. Maybe instead of figuring out how to conjure food, we should try to determine why we **_**can't**_**.**_

_Well, it's totally possible to conjure oil for lighting purposes, but the moment you try to put it in a hot pan with something else it blows up in your face. It's possible to conjure any plant in the world and have it behave like a plant, but the moment you create something that you know can be consumed, it reverts back to the original object at the first hint of damage. And of course anything that vaguely has its own consciousness can only be imitated, not actually made…_

**_Maybe it's something to do with the way our brains perceive things?_**

_We've been over this multiple times. It's a plausible theory, but we've never found anything to prove it._

_**I don't suppose you've tried conjuring photosynthetic bacteria?**_

_Hmph._

Yes, Grindelwald was definitely a bitch, but at least he was a useful one. No one was going to worry about some fourteen-year-old kid like Tom as long as he was still up and about, murdering people and in general just causing trouble. If it hadn't been for all the bloody noise from the RAF running back and forth over the airspace all the time, this entire "World War Two" business (not to be confused with "World War One" or, better yet, "World War 4s") would have been perfect.

He just wished he was American sometimes. They were cleverer than most people gave them credit for. Staying out of a war that wasn't even on their land, only to swoop in at the very last second and take credit for saving everyone. It was something Tom could applaud them for. Unlike Europe, it had only taken them _one _war to realize that starting a bloodbath on your own soil was bad for the economy.

Well. Discounting the attempted invasion of Canada. And the fact that they were, socially, always a decade or so behind Europe. And their excessive religiousness. On second thought, Americans weren't that smart. But they _were _lucky bastards, to be located an entire ocean away from all this muck. Whatever trouble they got into would be their own doing.

It was almost a relief when he finally had to go back to school.

Almost.

The lessons were tedious and all, but Tom could deal with that. His so-called friends were also quite tolerable on good days. And his lackeys could be ignored.

See, it wasn't the concept, but the individual, that really ticked Tom off. One individual in particular. Well, maybe two. That crying girl with the glasses and pimples whose name he hadn't bothered to remember was annoying. But mainly one person, because at least that other girl was normally too shy to bother with approaching him.

His rounds of the train had started like any other year. Find some hesitant first years, smile at them, help them out, make them feel welcome, and have them worship you for the rest of their school days.

And then, out of the gaggle of little things, came this kid who _could not _be younger than Tom, and yet there he was, this – what the _hell _–

_**Say hello to Rubeus Hagrid.**_

Tom forced a grin and held out his hand. "Hello! And what might your name be?"

"WEIUHSDLKFHAKTEDFSGHEWUGAH," the thing replied.

_I thought you said he had a name._

_**I think.**_

"I'm sorry, can you repeat that?"

"Rubeus Hagri'. Pleased t' meet'cha."

_Oh, so _that's_ what he said._

"Well, Hagrid, my name is Tom Riddle. Welcome to Hogwarts! It's a wonderful place; I'm sure you'll love it. Anyway, if you need any help, don't be afraid to ask. There's going to be lots of people who have similar interests to yours."

"Ya' thin' ther'll b' oth'rs li' me?"

_Ummm…what?_

_**I think he's looking for his brethren.**_

"What do you mean by that?"

"Ya'know." At this, Rubeus Hagrid looked kind of crestfallen as he awkwardly indicated his own height with his hand. "Big."

"Oh," Tom chuckled. "Well, size doesn't matter," he said, ignoring Jerry's perverted giggle, "because real friends shouldn't care what you look like."

Now, the _useful _friends, on the other hand…but it wasn't as if Hagrid was going to be getting any of those.

"No one's ev'r said tha' to me bef're," Hagrid shrugged. "Tha' all run away."

_I swear to god, even Minerva wasn't that bad._

"It's all right, Hagrid! I'll be your friend!"

"REALLY?"

_Shit, shit, why did I say that, Jerry? Why did I say that? _

_**Ummm…**_

_Damn, damn, damn, damn, I am an idiot!_

_**Well, look on the bright side. If you ever need any dumb muscle…**_

"Of course! What are friends for? Come on, I want you to talk to some of my other friends. There's this guy named Filius who's smaller than all the rest of us, but we don't make fun of him. Though, we're all fourth-years, so you might want to have friends your age, too, since we won't be in the same classes."

Hagrid began crying. Actually, crying was an understatement. Hagrid was just plain breaking down into disgusting, wet, heaving sobs.

_Dammit, what did I do?_

_**Nothing. He's just like that.**_

_Crap. We can't have emotional dumb muscle._

_**Sometimes emotions can work in our favor.**_

_Like?_

_**Hulk angry. Hulk smash.**_

_Who's Hulk?_

_**You know, I actually don't know.**_

"Hagrid? What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothin'. Nothin'. It's just tha', no one's eve' bin so nice ta' me bef're. I'mean, ma' dad tried his bes', ya'know, an' som'times th' ol' man 'cross th' road gave me summa coins ta' help him carry hisstuff, bu' no'ne ma age ev'r – ya'know – I'm – I'm jus' so happy – "

_Jerry?_

_**Hmmm?**_

_Help me._

_**What?**_

_What are these emotions you speak of? How do you emotions?_

_**Tom, you're a highly manipulative psychopath, not a socially impaired dimwit.**_

_Ah, fuck._

"Hey, Hagrid. If you're happy, you shouldn't cry! Smile! Like this!"

_**We are the wives of Stepford…**_

"There you go!"

_And now he's blowing his nose into – was that a tablecloth? Where did he get a tablecloth from? Did you forget to mention that he skilled at wandless magic, too – no, wait, he stuffed it back into his shirt – Okay. Now that was just gross. Yes, Hagrid! Clearly, that is the proper thing to do after one has soaked a tablecloth__ with tears and snot – just stuff it back into your shirt like it's still clean. There you go. Now that was brilliant – oh, and he's wiping his nose with the sleeve of his arm. Like the tablecloth wasn't enough. Okay – please, don't try to touch me. Please, please, please, don't reach out for a handshake, or a hug, or something –_

_**Grin and bear it, Tom?**_

_Easy for _you _to say! You're a mental entity; you don't have to deal with germs!_

_**I'm sure you'll be fine.**_

_Well, I'm not immortal yet! Who knows where he's been! _

Still blubbering, Hagrid nodded to him and lumbered off. Tom suspected no one else would sit with him the entire ride. Even if he didn't get stuck in the doorway.

_That was horrible. Why are we doing this again?_

_**Hagrid like Tom. Tom is sad. Tom sad because person bother. Hagrid no like Tom sad. So Hagrid no like person bother. Hagrid angry person bother. Hagrid smash –**_

_Okay, okay, I get it! No need for that caveman speech! Sheesh!_

_**Well, you have to admit, it's more coherent than the original.**_

_That is unfortunately very sadly true._

_**He likes Care of Magical Creatures, by the way. So if you ever have to deal with, I don't know, giants, he's your best bet.**_

_Oh, joy._

_**Though Care of Magical Monsters might be a better description.**_

_Oh, double joy._

_**He thinks giant spiders are cute.**_

_I'm sorry. Did you say giant spiders?_

_**Yes.**_

_Like how big?_

_**Give me a scale.**_

_On a scale of regular tarantula to Goliath bird-eating spider, how big?_

_**Mmmm…acromantula.**_

_Okay. Hold on. _

_**What are you doing?**_

_I'm getting off this train, and I am going to go straight to the nearest Texaco garage, and I am going to steal a tank of petrol and a lighter, and I am going to –_

_**Don't you have Fiendfyre or whatever the heck it's called?**_

_Screw the Fiendfyre. Something like that deserves a good nuking._

…_What's a nuking, anyway?_

_**It's a single bomb about the size of a baby acromantula that can level an entire city. Maybe more. But it won't be invented and used until the end of the war. Maybe.**_

_Yeah. That. I want one._

_**Come on, man. It's a spider. They eat flies and stuff. They're good for the environment.**_

_I have no problem with house spiders. They can do whatever they want. But this thing you're talking about is an ACROMANTULA. They eat PEOPLE. They OUTRANK HUMANS ON THE FOOD CHAIN. You think it's going to bother with eating something as small as FLIES?_

…

…

…

_**NUKES FOR EVERYONE!**_

* * *

**BONUS #12**

_Springtime for LORD VOLDEMORT: A Gay Romp With Bella and Tom at Malfoy Manor_

_(Based on the musical, _Springtime for Hitler_, by the esteemed unhinged neo-Nazi Franz Liebkind.)_

_(Also, it's a parody stolen directly from parody film _The Producers_, so please don't take this seriously and write to the ACLU or whatever the heck it is the politically correct like to use to sue other people with nowadays.)_

_(By the way, if you HAVEN'T seen _Springtime for Hitler_, you should. It's hilarious. And if you're like me, and would rather spend an hour prowling the web for a free version instead of just getting the damn movie, it's the first search result that pops up on YouTube.)_

[CHARACTERS]

Lord Voldemort – _played by Gilderoy Lockhart_

Bellatrix Lestrange – _played by Rubeus Hagrid_

Lead Tenor Death Eater – _played by Neville Longbottom, post-puberty_

Peter Pettigrew – _played by a rotten pumpkin on a stick_

Death Eater Recruiter – _played by Emperor Palpatine_

Albus Dumbledore – _played by Gandalf_

Harry Potter – _played by Naruto Uzumaki_

…_Because let's face it: he is a spiky-haired orphan whose parents who died in the process of saving him, looks like his dad but acts like his (redheaded) mom, incredibly dull-witted but gets through life on the power of friendship and love anyway, who suffers from a shitty childhood, a Jesus Christ complex, a terrible excuse for a best friend who keeps running off on him, and has another friend who is a book-smart girl that ends up marrying aforementioned awful best friend, while meanwhile he ends up marrying the girl who had a crush on him from the very beginning, and deals with a completely batshit insane snake-man and this weirdo who distributed himself among seven bodies for enemies, too. _

[EXTRAS]

Various Wizards/Witches

Five scantily clad witches, whose costumes are designed with Dark Marks

Tap-dancing Death Eater children (backup singers)

Legions of Death Eaters (backup dancers)

[OPENING SCENE]

_(Happy, lilting orchestra music sounds.)_

_VARIOUS WIZARDS/WITCHES appear, standing in a line. Music changes to a more upbeat jingle; at the same time, they start dancing_:

Britain's overrun by filthy Muggles – what a sad, sad story!

Need a brand new leader to restore its former glory!

Where, oh where was he?

Where could that man be?

We looked around and then we found the man for *you* and *me*!

_The LEAD TENOR DEATH EATER dances onstage; at the same time, the back curtain parts to reveal the scantily-clad witches, who enter in single file. As they reach the front stage, they twirl and then step off to the side, except for the last witch, who stays in the back._

LEAD TENOR DEATH EATER:

Springtime for Voldie and Death Eaters,

Britain is happy and pure!

We're marching to a faster pace!

Look out, here comes the master race!

Springtime for Voldie and Death Eaters,

Enemies of the Heir, beware!

Springtime for Voldie and Death Eaters,

Watch out Britain, you're in for a scare!

_Enter_ TAP-DANCING DEATH EATER CHILDREN:

(Look, it's springtime!)

LEAD TENOR DEATH EATER _and _TAP-DANCING DEATH EATER CHILDREN:

Springtime for Voldie and Death Eaters,

LEAD TENOR DEATH EATER _(alone)_:

Winter for Mudbloods and filth!

TAP-DANCING DEATH EATER CHILDREN:

Springtime! Springtime!

Springtime! Springtime!

Springtime! Springtime!

Springtime! Springtime!

LEAD TENOR DEATH EATER:

Come on Death Eaters, go into your dance!

_The TAP-DANCING DEATH EATER CHILDREN do a cute little routine to popping xylophone music dancing back and forth between the sides of the stage. They dance to the audience's left and gesture to PETER PETTIGREW._

_Stage light shines on _PETER PETTIGREW _as he enters_:

I am ugly, cowardly, and fat

And that is why they call me stupid rat!

_The TAP-DANCING DEATH EATER CHILDREN dance to the audience's right and gesture to the DEATH EATER RECRUITER._

_Stage light shines on DEATH EATER RECRUITER as he enters:_

Don't act like a silly rookie

Join the Dark Side; we have cookies!

_The TAP-DANCING DEATH EATER CHILDREN continue doing their dance routine, accompanied by lovely background music. Occasionally, there are sound effects of the Three Unforgivable Curses being cast and random explosions, which they mime._

_The music changes to dramatic orchestral music, and they split in two, each group dancing their way off to their respective side._

_The fifth of the SCANTILY-CLAD WITCHES, who has been standing in the back of the stage, starts moving forward to the front:_

The Dark Lord is coming!

The Dark Lord is coming!

The Dark Lord is coming!

_She turns and exits toward the back; Peter Pettigrew, the Lead Tenor Death Eater, and the Death Eater Recruiter join together in the middle of the stage._

PETER PETTIGREW _kneels and bows_:

My Lord!

DEATH EATER RECRUITER _kneels and bows_:

My Lord!

PETER PETTIGREW, DEATH EATER RECRUITER, _and _LEAD TENOR DEATH EATER _clump together in a sorority squat, put their hands together, and then do a group cheer, flinging their hands into the air, as the TAP-DANCING DEATH EATER CHILDREN dance behind them:_

_(together) _MY LORD!

LEAD TENOR DEATH EATER:

Springtime for Voldie and Death Eaters!

_As he trills his last note, the silhoulette of LORD VOLDEMORT can be seen rising in the back of the stage, his cloak fluttering forbiddingly and a dark red light shining over him. The music becomes more and more dramatic and orchestral._

EVERYONE ON STAGE:

MY LORD!

_The red light turns hot pink, and it is revealed that LORD VOLDEMORT is being played by Gilderoy Lockhart, who, although he agreed to put on pasty white makeup to emulate LORD VOLDEMORT, had refused to cut his long, curly blond hair or hide it under a bald wig. Combined with his vacant look, he looks more like a dead prostitute than a Dark Lord, further attesting to the fact that LORD VOLDEMORT was little more than an attention whore._

_The dramatic orchestral music is suddenly interrupted by a cheerful jazz note from brass band instruments. As this happens, LORD VOLDEMORT strikes a very languid pose._

_Peaceful piano notes play, and _LORD VOLDEMORT _trills softly:_

Worship me

If you please

I'm the snake

Who's out to make

Our history!

_The upbeat jazz band picks up again, and he starts sauntering down to the front of the stage._

Worship me!

Kiss my robes!

_He reaches the front of the stage, strikes another pose, and starts dancing flamboyantly._

There's no greater

Dictator

Anyone knows!

_He flings his arms apart and raises his volume significantly._

Everything I do I do for you!

EVERYONE ON STAGE:

(You liar!)

LORD LORD VOLDEMORT:

(Shut up!)

If you like Dark Magic or genocide,

Well, I do, too!

Worship me!

If you want some Muggle-hunting

Follow me!

Praise myself

Raise some hell!

Every Death Eater stand up and yell –

EVERYONE ON STAGE:

Hooray!

LORD VOLDEMORT:

Every Death Eater stand up and yell –

EVERYONE ON STAGE:

We love our Unforgivables!

LORD VOLDEMORT:

Every Death Eater stand up and yell –

EVERYONE ON STAGE:

Avada Kedavra!

_Everyone stands in a line, links arms, and then raise their wands into the air and fire a volley of green light into the air. Using actual killing curses is not recommended, although it does make the play more realistic._

_Everyone exits; the VARIOUS WIZARDS/WITCHES enter for the bridge._

VARIOUS WIZARDS/WITCHES:

Good old Volder's taking over!

He's got those Mudbloods on the run

Now isn't that just so much fun?

Good old Volder's taking over!

No one dares challenge his commands

They can't say "no" to his demands

He's got the whole world in his hands

Good old Volder's taking over!

_LORD VOLDEMORT re-enters in a lavish pirouette._

LORD VOLDEMORT:

I was just a little orphan

No one more obscured

Then my Hogwarts letter came

And said I was a wizard

What, oh, what to say?

The world's so boring nowadays

So I pulled on some robes

And split my soul

Now I'm a Dark Lord, too!

_BELLATRIX LESTRANGE tap-dances onstage. Since this is Hagrid we are dealing with here, there should be reports of earthquakes coming out of Bristol sometime soon. Stay tuned with us, the BBC._

BELLATRIX LESTRANGE:

Challenge duel, challenge duel

Voldie digs a challenge duel

Doesn't matter who wins as long

As the _Daily Prophet _gets it wrong!

_ALBUS DUMBLEDORE marches onstage, wielding a giant staff._

Playtime's over, Tom!

Now clean up this mess!

_HARRY POTTER follows, holding a massive ninja star that is in no way aerodynamic._

Yeah! Because blah blah blah the power of love and friendship!

LORD VOLDEMORT:

Oh, crap. Not this again.

HARRY POTTER:

Anyway, if you're the Dark Lord,

How come you don't have a nose?

ALBUS DUMBLEDORE:

Oh my _god_, Harry. You can't just ask people why they don't have a nose.

_They exit._

LORD VOLDEMORT:

It ain't no mystery

If it's politics or history

The thing you gotta know is

Everything is show biz!

Bow to me!

Watch me go!

I'm the wizard Adolf Hitler

Dontcha know?

We'll conquer the world

Because that's just what we do

So point your wands in the air

And Avada Kedavra to you, too!

Bow to me!

Wonderful me!

And now it's…

_The curtains behind him part again, and the Legions of Death Eaters march onstage, wand arms elevated above their shoulders at a 27-degree angle._

CHORUS:

Springtime for Voldie and Death Eaters!

LORD VOLDEMORT:

Yes, it's Springtime!

CHORUS:

Winter for Mudbloods and filth!

LORD VOLDEMORT:

And here we go!

CHORUS:

Springtime for Voldie and Death Eaters!

LORD VOLDEMORT:

Springtime! Springtime!

Springtime! Springtime!

Springtime!

CHORUS and LORD VOLDEMORT _(together)_:

Watch out world!

We're going

To war!

_End opening sequence._


	20. Hilarity

_"#100. To keep my subjects locked in a mindless trance, I will provide each and every one of them with free Internet access."_

* * *

Tom had forgotten how much he hated school. And boring classwork. And Slughorn. And stuck-up Pureblood brats. But mainly just school, since that seemed to be where all three of those other things came to a head.

And if there was one thing Tom hated more than those things, it was reading invitations in excessively curly script. It was almost as if the people writing the damn things wanted to _prevent _the guests from showing up, just so that they could have more space to themselves. You just had to know that here was a major problem when the flair in the handwriting took up more space than the actual letters themselves.

Tom wasn't illiterate by any means, but even educated people have an easier time reading Times New Roman – where every letter was _individually readable_ – than this…whatever they called it. Edwardian Script.

They looked like chicken scratches, to him.

_To Mr. Tom Marvolo Riddle, _Tom read sarcastically for Jerry's benefit, _You are hereby cordially invited to the first meeting of the Slug Club of the 1940-1941 school year. Sincerely, Professor H. E. F. Slughorn. _

_**D'awww, look at you! All grown up and getting invitations to the Slug Club already!**_

_Shit. This is going to be just freaking terrible. I just know it._

_**But a fourth-year, though! Just think about how many influential people you'll be able to influence now!**_

_That's the only reason why we're not going to get "sick" three Saturdays from now, right?_ Tom responded. _Will you look at this crap. "Hereby"? "Cordially"? "H. E. F."? Seriously! Who needs that many effing initials?_

_**Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore does.**_

_Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore._

_**Yep.**_

_Albus Percival Wulfric…where the hell did they get the "Brian" from?_

_**I honestly have no idea.**_

But of course, they would have to go to Slughorn's little soiree anyway, at least just to see what it all was like, if not to keep face. Because the Slug Club was, supposedly, something special that just about _everyone _absolutely _had_ to go to. And if Tom didn't go, it would be taken as either a) Tom being a loser, or b) Tom snubbing Slughorn, neither of which was worth the extra three hours of time or so just waiting it out.

Not that Tom was any more excited to go. He wondered just how many of the people arriving were threre because they wanted to be, and how many were there out of mere social obligation. He suspected the latter more than the former, because, in all seriousness, nobody sane (or insane) liked going to these sorts of things. That failure of a New Year Gala at the Lestranges' mansion had proven it well enough, thank you very much. Not that Tom found social gatherings of _any _sort fun, but at least certain casual get-togethers were easier to deal with than others. Certainly, he wouldn't have to bother with remembering the "proper" way to speak and stand while torturing his "friends" in Slytherin at Hogsmeade, even if they were pureblood.

Naturally, Tom was right in his prediction. And so, quite unsurprisingly, the Slug Club, as it turned out, was dull.

Dreadful.

Boring to the core.

The former Minister for Magic, Hector Fawley, had been invited, but there wasn't much point in paying any attention to him. Like Neville Chamberlain, he had failed to take the threat in central Europe seriously, and could now do little more than sit around, twiddle his thumbs, and brag to anyone who cared to listen (which was no one) about all the amazing things he did while he was stille the Minister (which was nothing).

Slughorn had promised that he'd try to get the current Minister for Magic to drop by sometime, but Tom highly doubted it. The war was still going on, air raids were occurring all over Britain, the Nazis had just started bombing London, and while the wizards in Diagon Alley were protected from the explosions thanks to their little pockets of space-time anomalies, that didn't mean that wizards living in non-protected areas and non-magical relatives of wizards were. The Wizarding government had better things to deal with than suffer through an insufferable night of Horace Slughorn's hors d'oeuvres and obsequious flattery from schoolchildren trying to buy their ways into plum government jobs once this whole entire spiel was over.

In any event, Tom didn't think that this Leonard Spencer-Moon person would have accepted the invitation, even if he _hadn't _been busy. The moment he had been announced as the new Minister, Tom had looked up the man's old records – including school reports, detention slips, arrest record, anything that could potentially be used for blackmail – and discovered that he had been a less-than-stellar student. His job, upon leaving Hogwarts, had been a tea-boy in one of the lesser funded departments in the Ministry – too incompetent, grades-wise, for even the most mediocre of pencil-pushing positions.

Needless to say, he would have probably been one of the many students that suffered under Slughorn's elitist thumb while in school.

There were a few other people, of course – but it was rare that anyone too important would show up near the beginning of the year. Like always, anything that mattered always happened in May or June, because a) that was when job recruiting prospects would be the most accurate, and b) the universe just liked to deal out its hand in a conveniently predictable manner. The first meeting was mostly for people to get to know each other, shake a few hands, throw out some names, and maybe exchange business cards, so that they'd be remembered when the _really _necessary deals started taking place much, much later on.

But even though he was, well, _Tom Riddle_, his genius and maturity could only get him so far. A lot of these people were still strangers. They had heard of him, yes, since he knew that Slughorn liked to brag about every single genius that went through his hands every chance he got, but they hadn't had the chance to interact with him very well, unlike the rest of his classmates.

To the Director of Magical Sports and Games (that department was pretty empty right now, seeing as there was a _war _going on and no one had the time or money to host any Quidditch World Cups), or the second most important Goblin-Wizard Liaison, or the city's fourth most important financial advisor, he was just another fourth year, albeit a very knowledgeable and talented one. He was someone they would want to get to know – later, when he was about to graduate and going to look for a job. And, of course, Tom wasn't going to let them think anything else. As far as they were concerned, he wasn't worthy of their worship – yet.

So Tom basically spent the entire night wandlessly adding extra ethanol to the punch bowls while no one was looking. And then secretly recording every single embarrassing thing everyone did or said while they were drunk.

…Now that he thought about it, being the only underage person at such a snooty gathering was actually really, really fun.

_**Ethanol? Really? Tom, please. Ethanol is for sissies.**_

_What are you talking about?_

_**If you really, **_**really **_**want nice effects, next time, bring some lysergic acid diethylamide.**_

_Lysergic what?_

_**Lysergic acid diethylamide.**_

_What's that?_

_**LSD. Acid. Microdots. Window panes. Derived from ergotamine, a chemical produced by the rye fungus ergot. It's a chiral compound with two stereocenters at the carbon atoms C-5 and C-8. It's soluble in both water and alcohol.**_

_Which is…_

_**(6aR,9R)-N,N-diethyl-7-methyl-4,6,6a,7,8,9,-hexahydroindolo-[4,3-fg]quinoline-9-carboxamide. **_

_Oh, _that_! Why didn't you say so _before_?_

_**I am detecting a little sarcasm.**_

_Gee, you think?_

_**Now that was unwarranted. You should know what that means.**_

_No, I don't! How do you expect me to conjure a complex chemical compound out of thin air when you only give me the formula, and not its orientation? _

…_**Oh. Haha. My bad. Ahem. The stereoisomer we are going to be using today has the absolute configuration (5R, 8R). There, is that better?**_

_THANK YOU. _

…_So what is this supposed to do again? _

_**Try it, and you'll see. On other people, of course. Not yourself. You'll find out more during the 1960s and 1970s counterculture movements. **_

As it turned out, the very next morning was absolute hell for anyone who had gone to Slughorn's little gathering, even for Slughorn himself, who was a Potions master with a ready supply of hangover cure at any given time. Save for Tom, naturally.

The thing was, while wizards might have known how to combat headaches and nausea (seeing as distillation of fruits and grains had been around for millenia), none of them had come into any contact with chemically derived drugs yet.

Testing the properties of compounds was one thing. That could happen quite easily, on the macroscopic scale. But for the more complicated chemicals, with different shapes and such, one needed a working knowledge of atomic bonds and structure. Something the magical community had never even bothered with.

And the worst (best) part? None of them even remembered what had happened. Apart from – "funny lights", "feeling like a dozen Billywig stings", and "help me the walls are breathing!", no one could explain the odd jitters that persisted for the next day and a half.

Tom had the absolute best pictures from that night.

But fun time was over. With the arrival of the Slug Club and its many connections, there was now more of a need for a proper mind-controlling spell than ever. One that stayed strong and permanent regardless of distance. One that could be easily applied at any given moment in time. All he'd have to do was walk up to some important person that Slughorn had introduced him to, and let the magic do its work…

_**So the LSD, then.**_

_Shut up, Jerry!_

_**You can't tell me to shut up if **_**you're **_**laughing, too!**_

_Okay – fine. Just – shut up._

_**You're still laughing!**_

"Mr. Riddle, can you tell me the four properties of Babylonian grapeseed?"

_Shut up! I have to concentrate!_

_**No you don't, you liar.**_

"It enhances viscosity, regulates temperature, causes a bitter taste, and is oil-soluble."

_But seriously, though. I think that we're on to something here. If Runes can help us permanently store and amplify the energy sinks from a Time-Turner…_

"Excellent. Ten points to Slytherin. Now, with the Babylonian grapeseed, one must be extra careful not to spill any at the wrong moment, especially if…"

…_**They can also help permanently store and amplify the properties of Anifute!**_

_Dammit, Jerry! Stop calling it that!_

_**But the mindfuck, Tom! Think of the mindfuck!**_

"Sir, why is Babylonian grapeseed called 'Babylonian'? The textbook says that it actually came from Egypt, but it doesn't specify how it came to be called Babylonian…"

_No, Jerry._

"That's an interesting question, Tom. You see, Europeans traded with the rest of the world through the Middle East, and many of the traders that dealt in this special variety of grapeseed came through the area that once was Babylon…"

_**Still, though. The runes.**_

_But weren't you the one going around saying 'branding all of your followers is a really, really stupid idea because now the entire damn world will know just who exactly is part of your little gang of criminals'?_

_**Well, **_**obviously**_**, a) you're not going to put it in a place generally displayed to the public, and b) whether or not you do, we're putting an invisibility charm on it anyway.**_

_So, like, cut them open and put it on the inside of their skin? I'm not a trained surgeon!_

…_**I was going to say a different spot, but that works too.**_

_What? Where?_

…

_Jerry, I'm thirteen. Whatever you're keeping from me, I'll learn from all my dorm mates anyway._

…_**The arse, Tom. The arse.**_

…

…

…

…_That's stupid!_

_**Excuse me?**_

_For someone so smart you're really stupid. This is the first time I've heard you say anything so stupid._

_**What?**_

_If you haven't noticed, there are many occasions in which idiotic young men might display their arses to other people!_

_**Whoa, whoa, whoa –**_

_Communal showers and baths on god-knows-where in France and Italy and those other damn nations with Romantic languages being the simplest, to name a few. Even as grown men the Scots still occasionally moon people! And kids will be immature and try to pants each other; I've seen it in the orphanage. I might be young, but I'm not _that _sheltered._

_**\- oh.**_

_What?_

_**What?**_

_What were you going "whoa, whoa, whoa" about?_

…_**Nothing.**_

_Anyway…_

_**I was just saying that since we're going to make them invisible, it wouldn't matter where we put them, but just in case someone knows any revealing spells, they'll at least have the benefit of modesty…besides, I was only joking. From an entirely psychological standpoint, the **_**gluteus maximus **_**has always been a body part of unusual human fixation for all of our existence, second only to breasts. **_

_Oh._

_**It was just a joke. You know, because the arse is a very obvious answer for most things, but you **_**didn't **_**think of the arse because you're too high-brow for that, and then you took it too seriously once I **_**did **_**explain the joke to you. Dammit, it's not funny when you have to explain it, Tom! **_

_Well, I _apologize _for not being so common or vulgar._

_**Look – let's just – forget all that. It was stupid and poorly timed. Your idea works, too, though. If you want to deal with cutting people open, that is.**_

_Huh._

_**Yeah, I'm not too excited about that, either, but it's actually a pretty smart idea.**_

_..._

…_Jerry?_

_**Hmmm?**_

_About the arses…is it common for people to get tattoos on their arse cheeks?_

_**Oh, all the time. **_

Tom, feeling mildly disturbed, decided to revert back to business. Both of them were aware that Jerry was an extremely knowledgeable person, in many, many more ways than one. Of those many, many ways, there were quite a few things that he did not enjoy discussing with Jerry, and this was one of them.

Jerry insisted that this awkwardness about the subject was one that he'd have to overcome at some point in time or another, because anything that he was even uncomfortable with counted as a weakness. Tom could imagine why. When he was just playing around, flirting, talking, or teasing, he didn't have a single problem. But the moment things started crossing a certain line of seriousness – even in discussion – a weird mental part of him suddenly just _balked_.

He didn't know if it was chemically ingrained in his brain, or if he was just in that weird stage of growing up. What he did realize now, was that Jerry had been desensitizing him to this issue from the very beginning – ever since he had been old enough to understand language. There were still many things that flew way over his head, many things he didn't get, but now, at least, he was feeling a lot less stupid every time Jerry was laughing while refusing to tell him. He might not know _why _Jerry was laughing, or _what _the joke was exactly, but he at least got the message. It was not a difficult subject to discern, not after the first few examples of that base, crude humor.

Jerry was a dirty bastard, Tom realized. For all of his ingenuity, he was a dirty bastard.

_So now that we know what we're looking for, can we start making the actual mind-control thing?_

_**Yeah, yeah, let's get to it.**_

Having a Time-Turner around – one that no one knew about, too – just made it that much easier to sneak off to the Room of Requirement to start the first process of their diabolical plans.

_**All right: first things first, what exactly do we want in our mind-control rune?**_

_One: it has to be extremely powerful to the point where it cannot be overridden; however, it should also be subtle. That is, it can't turn people into mental vegetables or zombies. They should still be able to continue on with their regular lives, and be able to make informed decisions for themselves, without me having to tell them exactly what to do. Its default state is subtle, only meant to receive ideas. Also, it will lay very strong compulsion and memory modification spells on the victims, so that even if they suspected something was wrong they wouldn't be able to tell anyone about it._

_**Which we have covered in our basic mind control spell. Make sure that your idea of logical matches up with their idea of logical first, though. Anyway, go on.**_

_An all-encompassing sense of loyalty to me would also be nice. Not to the point of obsession, though. That's just creepy and plain inconvenient. Obsessed people don't always make the most intelligent choices._

_**That makes sense. We can incorporate that into our mind control spell.**_

_Two: it cannot fade in strength or effectiveness, either through time or distance. Simple enough – we just have to make a physical rune that's magically stable._

_**We also have that fact established. Good job revisiting it, though. It's definitely an important point that should not be forgotten.**_

_Agreed. Now, number three: it cannot be spotted or removed. We'll make it invisible, put it somewhere not generally searched by the public if someone is suspicious, like the inside of the human body, and lay down a Permanent Sticking Charm and very possibly a Soul Bind on top of it. And possibly a self-destruct mechanism, too, so that anyone who tried to leave by cutting out their own kidney or whatever would simply die._

_**Brilliant. And?**_

…_And what?_

_**What about you?**_

_What about me? _

_**What if someone you haven't controlled yet – say, some little upstart wannabe Dark Lord – gets the same idea and tries to use it against you? That would be a stupid way to go out, wouldn't it? Losing to some newbie.**_

_Oh. Hm. That might be a problem._

_**Never play around with a poison you don't have an antidote for. **_

_Ah, the powers of some good old common sense. What are we doing, then? Anti-mind control spells on top of a seal that I carve into my own forehead? And on that note, do you think we can attain immortality through the same way? I mean, it works in keeping food fresh…do you think it will keep me alive?_

_**If you ever do carve something into your own forehead, please, please, PLEASE make it a lightning bolt.**_

_What? Why? That's not one of the regular shapes…_

_**Because lightning bolts are badass, that's why.**_

…_Okay…I always thought the general rule was practicality over fashion, but if you're going to go around breaking your own doctrine, whatever…_

_**Hey! No need to go all passive-aggressive angsty preteen/teenager on me.**_

_I'll have you know that that order is completely useless on me. _

_**Oh, really?**_

_Who do you think you're _dealing _with? I am the _GRANDMASTER _of the Ancient and Noble Art of Passive-Aggressive Bitching._

_**Yes. Yes, you are. *sniff* I am so proud of you. You've come such a long way.**_

…_Whatever._

_**Ah! Nothing could sting me more! But you know what they say – "How sharper than a serpent's tooth to have a thankless child!"**_

_I didn't know you knew Shakespeare. _

_**I'm not **_**stupid**_**. I **_**have **_**sat through a standard English class.**_

_You just seemed more of the Nie...Niet…whatever-I-don't-care-how-you-spell-his-name type to me. _

_**ME?**_

_What? We both know it's true._

_**Ex**_**cuse**_** me, but **_**you're **_**the emo one. Most of the time.**_

…_Emo? You know what, never mind. I am going to walk away from this conversation, which is slowly getting extremely weird, back into the realm of usefulness._

Eventually, after asking the Room of Requirement to give them some works by Nietzsche so they could satisfy _that _eternal question, Tom set to work on creating the seal. Every day, he came back for one hour (though, thanks to the Time-Turner, it was actually a lot more than that), and, finally, right before the winter recess had ended, Tom completed his first design.

Tom had actually put a great deal of thought into the creation of his mind-control seal. Though he made it sound easily, in reality, it wasn't something as simple as one-two-three *BAM* magic seal! like he could do with other simple charms. Sure, he had the highly simplified rules that allowed him to create Arithmantic Runes at a much faster pace than the average wizard, but in order to maximize the strength of his works he still had to engage in a great deal of logical manipulation.

For example, extra components like invisibility and the preservation component could be applied to just about any rune in just about any setting, so he hadn't paid attention to those factors very much in his selection of his ending layout. Everything else, however, had to be accounted for. Firstly, the best shape to use, and then, how to divide the different components out among each branch of the shape, and then, after the final ratios were decided, what was the best overall amount to use. (He had to be able to exert total control without frying his victims' brains before the natural age of senility set in.)

He had finally settled on the triangle as his base layout, because it was geometrically the strongest shape, and therefore the most stable. This allowed the mind control component to not only be very powerful, but also keep its hold regardless of the situation. However, he also chose to leave it hollow on the inside, instead of solid, to maximize the subtlety and illusion of free will in their specialized mind control spell.

This also assisted in his idea of a self-destruct mechanism – the only way to break a triangle was to mess up one of its sides, and since a triangle was also the most unyielding form there was, that meant that any attempt at tampering with it would cause the entire structure to implode on itself, much like a failed Arithmancy problem.

Which led to the final question – where to put it? After some contemplation, Tom decided that the best part would be the brain. He had almost gone with the heart, but then decided against it. Artificial hearts could be made, in theory, but you couldn't just randomly create another new brain. The nice part about the brain was that, unlike the heart, which required someone to cut through the ribcage, there were quite a few openings leading up to it – such as through the ear canal, or through the eyes (which was why all mental or memory spells, save for _Imperio_, as well as Legilimency and Occlumency, required direct eye contact).

_There! Done! What do you think?_

Jerry was silent.

_Jerry? Are you all right?_

…_**Holy crap.**_

_What?_

_**It's true. I thought they were just stupid jokes, but it's actually true.**_

_What?_

_**An empty triangle, surrounding an eye…And we're going to take over the world with it.**_

_Yes…that's the point…_

_**We're going to create a New World Order.**_

_Yes. We are. I'm an Evil Overlord, Jerry._

_**And we, the Enlightened Elite, will be at its head.**_

_That's a rather embellished way to refer to my superior intelligence, but your point?_

_**Hold on just a second, Tom. I have to retreat to my mind space to hyperventilate.**_

_Oh, come on! You don't even BREATHE! JERRY!_

_Jerry?_

…_Jerry?_

* * *

A/N #2: ILLUMINATI CONFIRMED!

Just kidding, guys. Honestly, though, the replacement for the Dark Mark was just so _perfect _that I couldn't help but use it. And yes, I made up all of that Arithmancy/Ancient Runes theory (no idea how it's supposed to work in JK Rowling's mind) for the sake of this joke. Hah!

Some background info for you history buffs – really, the Illuminati were actually just a bunch of guys in the 1700s who were all like "Hey, people, stop being so superstitious and stupid! Scientific Method and the Enlightenment, yo!" and the Church was all like "Hey, smart people, you're threatening my power! You must be the anti-Christ!" and then a few hundred years later, some guy was like "Hey, here's something that will make me a bunch of money and get people running after me! Plus, anti-Christ and mysterious symbols! Yeah, that'll definitly work! HEY, GUYS, THERE'S A CONSPIRACY!"

Really. That was how it happened.

…_OR WAS IT?_

Maybe it's just what THEY want us to think. Who knows?


	21. Excellence

Finally, after all those sleepless nights of constant plotting and pondering, Tom had finally, _finally _completed his mind-control brand.

Now, who to pin it on?

Well, the answer to that was obvious.

Poor Lestrange. Poor, poor Edmund Lestrange.

Just kidding. He wasn't stupid. Contrary to what his jokes indicated, Tom could under no circumstances risk actually going after a human test subject right away, even if it _was _Lestrange. The human mind was a complicated thing, and the list of what exactly could go wrong ran for miles. The best thing to do would be to start with things that had simpler minds than Lestrange. Tom wasn't worried about finding a suitable pre-test specimen. There were at least thirty different species of animal dumber than Lestrange was – although, the fact that none of them were chordates might be an issue…

_**TOM! YOU JUST MADE A CNIDARIAN **_**EXPLODE**_**!**_

_Re-_lax_, Jerry! I have this covered. We're wearing a HAZMAT suit, remember? Besides, it's not as if jellyfish had brains to begin with._

…_**Where'd you even get that?**_

_Get what?_

_**That HAZMAT suit?**_

…_I conjured it…?_

_**From where?**_

…_with magic…?_

_**But how'd you know how to conjure one?**_

…_I imagined it…?_

_**But where'd you come up with that?**_

…_You told me…?_

_**When?**_

…_Just now…?_

_**What?**_

…_Jerry, are you all right?_

_**What? What are you talking about –**_

_Jerry!_

_**I'm all right! Nothing's wrong! I swear!**_

_Are you sure?_

_**Yep. I'm fine. Absolutely fine.**_

_You're behaving rather oddly, Jerry._

_**I relapsed slightly. Dead person, fragmented mind, violent death, and all that. I'll be okay.**_

_You sure?_

_**I'm sure. Continue.**_

It had taken many more months of messing around with various mammals, before moving on to some stolen - er, summoned monkeys and apes. It wasn't as if the world would go bananas over some little Dixout or Haramboo whatever its name was, would they?

The problem with using animals as test subjects was that all species had drastically different mental capabilities when compared to humans. It wasn't really a matter of intelligence, since that could be measured differently from animal to animal, but there was definitely a case to be made of how close to the human thought pattern each animal was. That included behavorial patterns and personality as well as simple "intelligence".

Tom's brand was designed to be strong enough to infiltrate the free will of a human, but not strong enough to overload their heads; thus, it seemed to work the most like the expected result when used on fellow primates. The first design Tom had used ended up turning his experimental rats and rabbits into living zombies; however, they had absolutely no negative effect whatsoever on chimps. Raccoons, ravens, and cats had varied reactions – they scored strongly on problem solving and lateral thinking areas on average, but differed from (most) humans in that they were solitary, not social, creatures. Then again, humans were also similar in that regard, as many of them were bad at following orders, and not just because of stupidity. Training certain humans was just as hard as training certain pets.

From these tests, Tom realized that human reaction to his brand would be varied, as well. For example, Minerva was a smart and strong-willed girl who acted according to her own brand of justice, but also paid excessive attention to rules and authority. Thus, she would most likely be harder to control than some of the dumber lackeys in Slytherin, but easier to control than, say, a prideful case like Orion Black or Abraxas Malfoy, or some of the more hotheaded Gryffindors, despite being more book-smart than the lot of them.

Which only led to even more issues regarding the mind-control brand. It seemed like he would have to tailor them specifically to the individual rather than simply mass-produce them as initially intended – or otherwise provide some sort of a safeguard check – making the prospect of bringing the whole entire world under this one control even less and less likely. At least there was proof that this runic method _could _work, unlike a single spell; however, it was also obvious that they had a long, long way to go before the rune could be applicable on a massive scale.

_**Maybe…you could spell it to maximal power, but then put certain gates on it so that it doesn't release it all at once and melt the person's brain. And then design the flow gates so that they'll only clamp down according to how much or how little independent will the person has. Like, all commands start out as a simple suggestion. If someone tries to resist, a gate will open and let more magic in so that the suggestion becomes a command, and the more they resist, the more forceful and magic-backed the order becomes. It's like the Chinese Finger Trap thing – the more you fight it, the stronger it latches on.**_

_Any idea how to actually go about doing this?_

_**I don't know. I don't remember.**_

_Maybe a pressure gate?...hmmm…_

He'd need more test subjects. Human test subjects. But definitely not ones from Hogwarts – random kids going missing in the middle of the night was too risky and too conspicuous. Something like that would certainly spark a highly inconvenient investigation by the Ministry of Magic – which he didn't particularly care about – and the teachers of Hogwarts – whom he cared a _little _more about, the main reason being Professor Dumbledore.

He couldn't use any of the children from the orphanage, either. The Muggle authorities might be low in numbers because of the war, as able-bodied young men that normally ended up joining the police force were instead being recruited into the military, but that didn't mean that orphan children getting snatched up in the night and then reappearing a few days later with their brains completely liquefied wouldn't stand out in some way, shape, or form.

Nothing could be traced back to him, in the event that anything went wrong and someone's brain started boiling. But this wasn't like money. He couldn't just create a mind-control chain and have random people be tested – casting a spell was a lot different from rune application. Spells could be accomplished through sheer willpower; runes required a lot more thought because the magic had to be applied in a certain way for it to remain stable. And certain people just physically didn't have the control to make a proper rune, let alone an Arithmantic rune, even _if _they had all the willpower in the world. Such a level of control had to be established at a young age, like Tom had. After a certain age, it was completely impossible – like trying to train ducks to obey their mother when they had already accidentally already imprinted upon a ticking clock.

Tom could provide the will through mind control. But there were limits; he could not provide a _way_. His subjects were limited through their own bodies. If he commanded someone normally unable to execute complex gymnastics flips to do so, then perhaps they might be able to if it was merely a matter of coordination. However, if he commanded that same person to catch enough smoke to fill a bucket with their bare hands, they'd be grasping at the air forever. Similarly, the difference between forcing someone to perform a spell they did not know, and inscribing a brand that was way out of their league, was the difference between making someone "try harder" or making someone "completely redirect the flow of their own undisciplined magic".

He needed to be there, to observe the changes and effects specifically. Secondhand information just wouldn't do, especially since most of these people wouldn't know what to look for. That was the main limitation of the brand – he could project commands, but not his own memories or thoughts. To do so would require possession, which was a different matter entirely, and not quite the safest one.

Tom hadn't expected their first trial run to be absolutely perfect, but he hadn't anticipated so many new problems, either. They hadn't accounted for all of these factors in the initial design process, and now it was coming back to bite him in the behind.

Even application of the Dark Mark in itself turned out to be a rather annoying process, and Tom was almost starting to regret designing the rune to be located on the brain. Unfortunately, there really was no other way; anything placed superficially would not only be more easily spotted, but also much weaker than optimal performance. Since power decreased over distance, it was only natural that the brand would be strongest when it was closest to the brain – even more so when it contacted the neurons directly. Efficiency was key, and he would rather suffer through the procedures now than suffer the result of any future pains that could have been prevented with a little less laziness.

Theoretically, physically applying the brand to the brain instead of burning it in from a remote area would be a lot easier, but then that led to the complications of actually having to physically cut through the skull as well. Tom was not a trained brain surgeon, and he didn't want to kill or lobotomize anyone by accident just because he didn't know what the thickness of the average human skull was in relation to a surgical saw. As useless as the central authorities were, there were still some things so blatantly obviously suspicious that even they couldn't overlook, and a mysterious pile of dead people was one of them.

Thus, one had to be extra careful not to accidentally stop at the skull when sending the brand through the eye sockets. There was a chance that a brand located that far away from the brain might still work, but it definitely wouldn't be as strong as intended. When the brand did not actually touch the brain, its strength increased gradually as expected, but once contact was actually made, its effectiveness shot up at least tenfold, and Tom wasn't going to be dumb enough to let an opportunity like that slide.

It was then that Tom realized another concerning turn of events – no matter how smart he was, there was no way he was going to be able to pay attention to so many people at once. There were billions of people in the world, and if all of their minds were connected to his, he would certainly go mad from all the idiocy. It didn't matter if he had an eidetic memory; it wasn't possible for him to waste all that time and energy visiting the minds of every single pathetic little peon on the planet personally.

What he needed was a way to keep track of them all.

He _could _come up with some sort of command structure, but that would involve entrusting other people with command of weaker versions of the brand, and there was no way that was a smart idea. There was always that one lieutenant that just happened to be smarter than all the others. Another way was slapping on an extremely strong layer of loyalty-inspiring magic, but he would have to control it very carefully to make sure that it didn't run away from him and create a world of fanatics, or worse, just a bunch of mindless zombie-like cronies instead. Lestrange himself was already bad enough.

_Two billion people, Jerry. Two billion people on this planet. It's enough to make any man go mad. Hell, I can't even stand being in the same room with four other people, let alone keep track of our entire planet. _

_**But these seals are designed to be dormant, right? As long as you set the default state to "go about business as usual and **_**don't **_**try to kill or otherwise hurt Tom Riddle in any way" you're good to go. Then you'll only have to worry about controlling the actually important people. **_

_But if there's two billion brands floating around on the planet, how are we supposed to find the specific guys we're giving the orders to among everyone else?_

_**Well, everyone's an individual, biologically speaking. You could use certain aspects of their physiology as identity markers.**_

_Like that DNA thing you told me about?_

_**Exactly. And this might fit in with the tailoring-to-an-individual problem we had before, too. Instead of us personally making one specific seal for each individual, make the actual brand itself automatically adjustable. Flexible, if you will. Like letting a liquid take the shape of its container. A rigid layer for the control, and a soft layer to fit the shape of said victim.**_

_And then use those identity markers to distinguish between different brains, like in telephone numbers, where people only bother with remembering how to find the actually important people. Otherwise, everyone will continue to go about their work normally._

_**And associate those identity markers with more easily remembered titles, like their name.**_

_But what if one day some guy named John Smith becomes Prime Minister or something?_

_**Then you call him "John Smith the Prime Minister" or "John Smith #11839" as opposed to "that one guy" or "that other dude". Whatever helps you remember. It's not like you're saying that to them out loud.**_

_Kind of like how you remember all the characters in that bedtime story you told me once?_

_**Which one was that?**_

_The magical fairy tale with the knights and queens and dragons. _

_**I've told you magical fairy tales about knights and queens and dragons?**_

_You know, the one where everyone was murdered at this one wedding? The one where the guy who wrote that story six decades from now "was a dick and liked givinig the same name to multiple characters"? _

_**Oh, that one. Yes.**_

_The main problem with all those guys is that they think that in order to have power, one must have some sort of station. An important position, or becoming landed nobility, and so on._

_**But they don't have mind control like you.**_

_Maybe not, but there are other ways of exerting tons of indirect control. Like those evil bankers with the face-changing dudes on the other side of the ocean. No one pays much attention to them, but they'll be around long after all those other guys have killed each other off. Like Switzerland. If the Nazis win, Europe will be destroyed, and if the Allies win, they'll probably be really unforgiving to Germany. But the land of banks and cheese will continue to be the center of this continent long after the Thousand Year Reich has crumbled to dust._

_**You seem to like Switzerland.**_

_I'd rather be living there than in London right now._

Really, Tom could care less if someone in some war-torn nation decided to take up a torch and dethrone their current ineffective leader, or if thirty different insurgent groups tore each other apart from the inside. Unless their idiocy was affecting the output of the world in a negative way – say a country that was sitting on vast supplies of natural resources cut production because someone decided they might have a highly inconvenient civil war, or the whiny brats called politicians of Europe decided to destroy an entire generation of their own continent just because some extremist with a gun went after some thrice-be-damned archduke – then he might put a stop to it. But if they were built a worthless patch of sagebrush anyway, then there was little reason to pay any attention to the whole affair.

Even so, Tom was not one to leave loose ends. If he had such a powerful tool as this brand at his disposal (as soon as he got it past the beta testing stage), he wasn't going to just use it sparingly. Something like this deserved to be distributed across the ends of the globe, and wherever else he managed to stretch his empire. Otherwise, someone insignificant could cause plenty of serious issues later on. After all, Joseph Stalin had been born to a housemaid and a cobbler and wasn't even ethnically Russian, and now he controlled that entire godforsaken patch of ice.

_**You **_**could **_**just pre-manufacture the brands so that your minions can distribute them for you without having to know how to actually cast the spells. Or, better yet, make the brands self-replicating, like bacteria. Bacteria that can survive forever and never die and can self-replicate even without a host in any kind of environment…**_

_And how would we do that?_

_**I mean, if you manage to evolve to Air 2 and Water 2 you can unlock Extreme Bioaerosol.**_

_See, this is the important Muggle stuff that they _should _be teaching us. Along with vaccines and whatnot. Do wizards just never get sick except for the common cold and dragon pox? How do they have, like, a 0% infant mortality rate?_

_***Magic!***_

"Tom, can you explain to me how a Dutch Oven works?" some girl who had infiltrated his study group (along with one, two, three, _eight _other tagalongs) asked cheerfully. God, he hated her. _Do your own damn work. I'm not even _in _Muggle Studies anymore – why are you bothering _me_?_

"Certainly. A Dutch Oven is actually a large cast iron pot and lid, used for baking items over a campfire, which doesn't have the cover that a normal oven does…"

Honestly. Why were they even asking about Dutch Ovens? Only Boy Scouts used those things anymore…most people didn't even know what the heck they were. Was the concept of a gas stove completely foreign to these idiots? They went to London at least once a year to do some back-to-school shopping for their children; how did they _not _know this?

_But never mind the plebes. We have a working brand, but we don't know how _well _it works on various test subjects. Where are we going to get actual people to work with, and not get caught? This is ridiculous!_

_**Patience. We'll find a way.**_

_Easy for you to say._

_**Tom…have a little faith in yourself. I know we'll find a way.**_

_Really?_

_**I just don't know what it is. But I know that a solution exists.**_

_You sound like a useless mathematician from a bad joke._

_**So fatalistic.**_

"…and if you turn to page twenty-three, that's a Muggle weaving loom! See how ingenious these people are, when they can't conjure cloth for themselves…" she explained, as if it would interest him, a person who had _grown up _in the Muggle world.

…_You really think we can do this? The problem just seems so…_

_**Patience. A solution shall come.**_

_You sure?_

_**I'm positive.**_

_Good. Because if I have to sit through this shit for the rest of my life I'd rather die._

_**Would you?**_

_All right. So I won't die. But I'll probably just go insane and jump out a window. How's that?_

_**Wonderful. A worthy dream. I think I'm going to cry; it's so beautiful.**_

_Shut up._

_**Now that's just hurtful.**_

_Don't you know any places that might lend us a bunch of unregistered humans?_

_**Oh, I'm sure there are plenty of illegal labs and political prisons scattered all about the globe.**_

_Oh, _goody_. Where to, oh Mr. Tour Guide?_

_**Let's see. Our first stop is at Dachau. From there, we'll move on to Sachsenhausen, and then Buchenwald. Flossenburg and Mauthausen are next, and finally, Ravensbruck will be our very last stop.**_

_Dachau? Sachsenhausen? Ravensbruck? What the hell are those things? They sound German. I don't want to go to continental Europe at this time of year. I hear it's snowing bullets._

_**Yeah, but if you use a Portkey you'll be able to avoid all that. Plus, they're just concentrated prison camps. It's not as if you'll be walking out in the open battlefield. Anyway, there's very little actual fighting in central Europe right now; most of the battles are actually being fought in Eastern Europe, North Africa, and Great Britain itself.**_

_And how do you propose we access them at this point in time?_

_**Portkey. Duh. **_

_But you already made me promise Slughorn that we'd go to his holiday party thing last week. Not that I want to go, but we can't ditch, either._

_**Time-Turner. Simple. Or, better yet, just schedule the prison camp tour on a different day from the party.**_

_I don't want to go to that thing, though._

_**Tough luck.**_

Tom groaned.

"Tom? Is something wrong?" Minerva asked, looking up from her book. Filius and Pomona, both of whom had also been completely absorbed in their schoolwork before, were now also shooting plenty of concern in Tom's direction. Evidently, being out-of-character was serious business, and Tom Marvolo Riddle, the Great Being of All Things Perfect, was never allowed to be unhappy. Ever.

"Oh, it's nothing, Minerva. I'm fine, honestly!" Tom backtracked, trying to cover up his mistake. "I'm…I'm fine."

No, he wasn't fine. He was going to have to suffer through another few hours of one of Horace Slughorn's stupid "evening soirees" with only Jerry for company.

_**You're saying that like it's a **_**bad **_**thing!**_

_Sucks to be you!_

"You sure don't _sound _fine," Pomona said, pursing her lips.

Oh, lovely. What a great moment for the least intellectually proficient member of their group to suddenly become the most perceptive. No, Tom didn't _sound_ fine; he was _never _fine. And the other members of the Hogwarts Four, as people had taken to nicknaming their cute little friendship circle that involved one member from each house (shocking, that people who had differently colored ties could associate with one another without trying to claw each others' eyes out with blunt spoons!) didn't realize it until _now_.

No _wonder _Salazar Slytherin finally abandoned the school, if this was the type of company he had had to suffer through. Then again, it wasn't like Salazar Slytherin had been the epitome of intelligent life, either. Tom had always wondered where people got these foolish ideas about racial superiority from. Probably a bunch of spoiled rich brats trying to justify their own self-interests when sheer born talent simply wouldn't cut it.

"I'm all right. Honestly."

"If there's something bothering you, Tom, you can tell us," said Filius. "We're your friends. We're here for you."

"Thanks…" Tom forced a smile. "I'll keep that in mind, Filius."

"Well?" Minerva pursed her lips.

Tom raised an eyebrow. "Well, what?"

"Aren't you going to tell us what's wrong?" she asked.

Tom sighed, mind scrambling for something he could make up. "Look. It's no big deal. I can take care of it myself. If push comes to shove, I'll ask you guys for help. Yes, there are a few rather troublesome things in my life, but they're quite personal…" Jerry had always taught him that candidly admitting what people wanted to hear made them back off more easily than just insistent denial. Of course, it was more realistic if you did try a _little _bit of weak denial first.

"Oh, Tom!" Minerva said softly.

"It's nothing. Really. Well, it _is _something, but we can't do much about it. You know how it all is. Both the wizards and Muggles are starting a war, and I…"

"Ah, yes, the Grindelwald business," Filius squeaked sadly. "It's nasty stuff, it is."

"Why can't people just get along?" Pomona sighed sadly.

_Because people like you are stupid. _"Yes. Why can't they?" Tom mused. "One day, the four of us together – we'll put a stop to this sort of thing. It's ridiculous. You'd think that after the first one, and then the Kellogg-Briand pact that followed, that people would learn that this sort of thing never brings any good."

"What's the Kellogg-Briand pact?" Pomona asked.

"It's just this treaty made a few years ago that outlawed war. It was wonderful in theory, but no one specified a way to enforce it, and so…well, you see how well _that's _working out," Tom sighed. "You can't really enforce not using force, because then you'd just be breaking your own rules," he said wistfully.

"Is that's what's bothering you, Tom?" Minerva asked. "We're only fourteen, Tom. We shouldn't be worrying about such things at this point in time."

…_**My mind isn't perfectly intact like yours. It's fragmented. I have brilliant plans here and there, but I often have to think on my feet just as much as the next person. **_

_Then what's this stuff about coming from 2015 and knowing the future?_

_**I remember – well, not quite remember, since it hasn't happened yet – anyway, the things that I do know and don't know happen to be very specific. **_

_Is this just another excuse? Or do you seriously not know?_

_**I won't lie to you. I seriously don't know.**_

_Oh._

_**I'm not infallible, Tom. Everything has a weakness. Better to confront them, then to delude yourself into visions of invincibility. No matter how many lies you give the world, you have to remember exactly what you are on the inside, otherwise the day someone else finds out the truth that you yourself deny is the day you die. **_

_I see._

"I know, Minerva. I know. And yet I can't help but think about it all the same."

"Don't worry, guys! I'm sure if we work together, we can find a solution!"

Typical Pomona.

"Tom's such an amazing person, isn't he?" Tagalong Girl finally said.

"Look, if you're not going to do anything productive here, maybe you should leave," Minerva cut in curtly.

"Like I'm going to take orders from some four-eyes Scot like _you_."

"That wasn't very kind – " Filius stuttered uncomfortably.

_**Tom?**_

_What?_

_**GET OUT. NOW.**_

_Why? The fun's just starting! You didn't tell _me _to get out when Orion and Abraxas started hexing each other in the halls!_

_**That's because they weren't two girls fighting over one guy!**_

_What do you mean, one guy? I thought they were fighting over productivity and seating rights._

_**Tom?**_

_What?_

_**You're an idiot.**_

* * *

A/N: So, like with _Conperviate/Anifute_, anyone have a better name for the mind-control rune? "Dark Mark" is so tacky.


	22. Reliability

_"#290. I will never murder someone for no good reason. On the other hand, if there _is _a reason, then I will not stop short at anything _but _murder." _

* * *

Tom always planned ahead.

For example, this little field trip with Jerry. His time-turnered self was currently occupying his place at Hogwarts with Slughorn and all the rest. His invisibility spells and silencing charms were impeccable. He was levitating himself above human height so that he wouldn't bump into anyone or otherwise give himself away through splashes and footprints. Every inch of his body was layered in Notice-Me-Not and anti-revealing charms. He even planted a Bubble-Head Charm over his head so that he didn't accidentally inhale something nasty by accident.

Absolutely no one here knew that he was present, and absolutely no one at Hogwarts realized he was gone.

And yet, for all the brilliant, intricately detailed effort he had put into his preparations, nothing could have possibly prepared him for _this_.

The world all around him was drab, bleak, and gray – a jungle of concrete and electrified barbed wire, rows upon rows of stark wooden shacks that would probably be more useful as chicken coops. It was a grotesquely perfect machine. The stench of thousands of unwashed humans packed on top of each other like rotting sardines stunk worse than burning sulfur; it was the smell of disease and festering pathogens and incalculable misery.

The lines leading into the gas chambers stretched on for more people than Tom could count. And the corpses. All the corpses. They just kept piling higher and higher.

_What the heck? Is this for real?_

_**It is.**_

He watched a row of walking skeletons file past him, struggling for words to describe exactly what he was seeing. They looked like aliens, their heads too big for their withered bodies, their limbs too skinny to support their protruding ribs, their sunken eyes dull and unfocused. Dirty striped uniforms hung from sharp hunched shoulders, too baggy and loose for their emaciated frames, the poor material too thin to be useful in a place this cold.

This was…

He struggled for words to describe it. Vaguely he remembered Jerry telling him a joke before they went on this trip. Something about the impressive feats of German engineering, how their latest cars could fit more people. What was it again? Two in the front, two in the back, and fifty in the ashtray?

Tom was not the type of person to let arbitrary ideas of right and wrong keep him up at night. If he had to lie, cheat, steal, torture, murder…if that brought him closer to his goal, he'd do it without a second thought.

…_it's pointless suffering, _he realized._ That's all there is to it. _

_Pointlessness. _

_There is no purpose to any of this. None of this brings Grindelwald or the Nazis any closer to their goal – well, their more important goal, which is winning the war, which needs to come first before this more arbitrary desire of theirs to make the whole world blonde._

_**It's a sight, isn't it?**_

Tom shook his head.

This was ridiculous.

Tom had hated both Grindelwald and Hitler before – firstly, because they caused him a great deal of inconvenience, as a London native and a light sleeper, and secondly, because he was a future Evil Overlord, and like all Evil Overlords, he despised competition.

But _this_…pushed that mere dislike from something "no hard feelings; it's nothing personal" to "right, this is getting personal."

As in, it had become his _personal_ mission to see these two jackasses go down, and in the most humiliating way possible.

Because a pair of dictators this _STUPID _did not deserve their power in the first place.

_Okay, first of all, that's a ridiculous amount of potential war effort manpower that they're killing. Secondly, the guards and scientists wasted to keep them here. And then the sheer amount of energy, railroads, and chemical weaponry they're using on these people. The effort expended to transportation, construction, and management – _he ranted. _This is…a slaughterhouse. It – it's…a mindless mass destruction of their own resources. _

An inexplicable anger formed inside his chest, and why he didn't understand. _Why _was he angry, on behalf of these insignificant, pitiful people? After all, Tom wasn't the one being starved and worked to death. Empathy had no factor in any of his decisions.

_**If it did serve a purpose, would you allow it to happen?**_

_But there _is_ no possible purpose this could serve that mind control can't do better, _Tom protested vehemently. _This is stupidity on the highest level._

_**What if there were people who were genetically resistant to your mind control, and posed an imminent threat to your regime? You'd have to kill them then. Eradicate that particular subset of Uncontrollables from your new world order…**_

_I wouldn't _have _to do that because I'd just have the majority who were already on my side capture them. Then I'd design a better seal that _would _work on them and we'd all be hunky-dory._

_**What if you couldn't?**_

_Blasphemy. I can do anything. You should be ashamed of yourself for even suggesting that. _

_**What if they all had a simultaneous uprising and you didn't have the time to make a new update to your seal?**_

_Me not having the _time _to − bitch, I have a Time-Turner. Go sit in the corner and think about the absolute stupidity of the statement you just made._

_**What if they had Time-Turners too, rendering your advantage over them useless?**_

_Then I…_Tom quickly changed the subject. _Look, all I'm saying is, _MY _world takeover would be so much better than this. Sure, they'll be my slaves, but for the most part I'm going to let them do their own thing. If I ever have to kill or interrogate someone, I do it quickly and quietly and efficiently. A nice clean Avada Kedavra, or a five-second Legilimens._

_**So you **_**would**_** kill them. If push came to shove.**_

_Yeah, but I wouldn't waste money, manpower, and resources just to hold them captive and slowly starve or work them to death. _

…_I'm not doing this Evil Overlord project because I want to hurt people. I just want to have my fun; the world's so boring otherwise._

Jerry smirked inside his head. _**My, my, Tommy? Do you mean to say you have a moral compass after all? Is that little justification supposed to assign you a moral high ground?**_

_Morality has nothing to do with it, _Tom snapped back. _Look how much cyanide and metal and energy they're wasting! There's Germans on the front lines running out of bullets and bandages! Think of how much further along they'd be by now in their futile attempt at world conquest if they converted these death camps to factories and other shit pertinent to the war effort!_

_Not that I'm complaining, mind you; their loss is my gain. _

That was why he never bothered to rationalize anything he did – because then it would hold him accountable for good and evil, a quagmire of philosophical debate he had no intention of getting mixed up in. He refused to succumb his freedom of action and thought to the abstract standards of other people.

He had never been opposed to the idea of suffering. He mentally tortured Lestrange on a daily basis, after all – but not because Lestrange was a git that somehow deserved the punishment. Right, so Lestrange _was _a git, but that wasn't the point – Tom wasn't punishing Lestrange for any wrongdoing on his part; Tom was punishing Lestrange because he felt like it, and it amused him. Simple as that.

Tom wouldn't delude himself into believing this idea of justice. No one _deserved _anything. If you hurt somebody and the world tried to hurt you back, then it was because they were afraid of you and wanted to preserve their own safety, simple as that. Your own fault for not being more careful and getting caught.

In case it wasn't clear, Tom didn't object to the moral aspect of the genocide one little bit. Nope, no siree. The sight of thousands, _millions_ of humans getting abused and murdered did not affect him in any way at all. Because he was a future Evil Overlord. And Evil Overlords did not have feelings and a sense of ethics outside of the bare minimum they needed in order to understand how keep the general population in line.

Nope, he had no problems with what he was seeing at all. Nope, not at all.

He was completely fine with watching this.

Tom wished he could set the whole thing on fire just to wipe the smug expressions off the faces of the prison guards. That was what bothered him the most about this. All the torture was justified by a bunch of imagined racial constructs from a bunch of pseudoscientists who didn't know what the fuck they were talking about.

_Aryan race, my ass. _The descendants of those Persian tribes stretched around the Middle East and India. They could have literally chosen any other word they wanted – _any other goddamned word they wanted − _to describe the Nordic-Germanic family. And instead, they picked a term that was _already in use_ for an entirely _different fucking thing_.

They seemed so pleased with themselves over this, too. To hell with the poor little Jews and Gypsies and Catholics and Communists and homosexuals – they could rot for all Tom cared. Not that he had anything against them personally. He really didn't give a shit whether they lived or died. There was something more important at stake here, and that was teaching the Nazi bitches a lesson. _They're getting too uppity for my liking._

Because that was what they were. A bunch of whiny bitches who couldn't take getting kicked in the ass once and were now begging to be fucked over a second time. And Grindelwald was the biggest pussy of them all, for letting this shit happen right underneath his nose and doing nothing about it.

He was a wizard, for fuck's sake. Wizards didn't care about race or religion, and Tom should know. He had seen the darkest of both worlds, seen the way his fellow countrymen sneered and looked down upon anyone who wasn't white, basically. By contrast, slurs at Hogwarts were based upon blood descent, how much magic your ancestors had, stuff like that.

Not that this was any more of a useful thing to care about than skin colour – both were equally stupid − he was only pointing out the cultural divide. Like shooting yourself in the foot versus cutting your nose to spite your face.

The point was, Grindelwald, as a wizard, should have known better. He was definitely allied with the Nazis in Germany, using the German Muggles to attack the Muggles of the resistant nations in a large-scale war, and distracting both Muggle and Magical governments in the process. In other words, he was at least somewhat reliant on the success of Nazi Germany in this war to bolster his own successes on the magical front.

Was it really _that _hard, to spare a few – just a few! – Imperius curses? And there was no excuse for not knowing; the warning signs for this genocide had been going on for years before, with the specific laws flaunting racial superiority and the forced relocation into ghettos.

Grindelwald could have stopped all of this before it began; hell, he could have stopped it now, controlled this Hitler guy to give the release order and then do some mass memory modifications on all those involved. But he didn't and he wasn't, and Tom couldn't figure out why. Did he really believe the trite these guys were spouting? Did he have some other brilliant plan underneath this? Was he trying to lose on purpose?

_None of you have the right to treat other humans like trash. No one has the right to feel superior over anyone, _Tom thought darkly. _Not when everyone is equally stupid._

He felt like vomiting. Not because he was disgusted by the genocide or anything. The only thing that disgusted him was the sorry sanitary state of that putrid nest of worms.

_**You're wearing a Bubble-Head Charm.**_

_Shut up._

Jerry began to laugh hysterically.

_What?_

_**Oh, I get it now!**_

_Get what?_

_**You're just mad because **_**those **_**guys are playing god with the camp prisoners, and taking away the power **_**you **_**are entitled to!**_

Tom snorted. _Don't be ridiculous._

_**Oh?**_

_I'm not 'entitled' to anything. No one is entitled to or deserving of anything, as you have taught me countless times._

_**Fine, poor wording, sorry. But they're abusing the power that you could handle so much better, isn't that right?**_

_That's exactly right. _

_**And not because you actually care about what's happening to all these poor people, right?**_

_Of course not._

_**Just checking.**_

A stupid check. He was a high-functioning sociopath. He did not have feelings. Because feelings made you –

− _**Weak?**_

_I was going to say STUPID. Come on, Jerry! What is this, some sappy bildungsroman? No, I am perfectly aware that humans can physically experience hormone surges that make them stronger in times of intense emotional response._

_**Ah, the whole "having feelings interferes with logical thought processes" thing.**_

_YES, the whole "having feelings interferes with logical thought processes" thing. As long as I understand what feelings are and how they affect people, I should be fine. Disregarding their effect entirely is silly, but succumbing to them is worse._

_I am an amoral sociopath who cares about nothing but his own enjoyment. Neither crippling sentiment nor uncontrolled sadism shall impede my ambition. Cold hard practicality is the only thing that controls my decisions. And I am proud of this fact._

Jerry let him repeat those lines until he believed them.

_**But that still leaves the matter of your test subjects. What are you going to do, save them all?**_

If he didn't save them, nothing would happen. In fact, speeding up the process would also pose him an advantage. Germany was hurting itself with these actions, so helping them do more of the same would make the war end faster.

If he did save them, they would owe him their eternal gratitude, and thus this could be a good recruiting ground for a large amount of potential followers. Meanwhile, just by him being here – all he needed was a camera and he could take down the Nazis through mere propaganda, and by default, Grindelwald. Tom knew better than anyone, the power of publicity and appearances.

Tom smirked.

_Au contraire, Jerry. That is _exactly_ what I am going to do._

If you could call what he was planning to do to them…"saving."

_Except I'm not saving them; I'm simply…reappropriating human resources. Like I said, I don't care about saving anyone. I just need a starting point for my brain viruses, and it would be a shame if they died before I could observe its effectiveness. _

He had nothing to lose, whatever path he chose. Theoretically, he could do the same to the average British slaughterhouse, freeing all the pigs and leading them in a great revolution of Animalism. But the advantages he could gain by taking all these prisoners for himself…Sure, some of them might die, but it wasn't as if he was systematically killing them all without even giving them a chance to do anything.

Certainly, whatever use he found for them would be better than that ignoramus Mengele and his absolutely purposeless pseudoscience. His prisoners – er, willing test subjects – should be honored to finally contribute to something worthwhile.

Of course, smuggling all those people out of a heavily guarded camp without getting caught was easier said than done…

Good thing death was such a common thing in these places that no one bothered checking the difference between a nonexistent pulse and a very slow one.

Painting Draught of Living Death all over the shower heads would be child's play.

That was going to take a lot of money, though. Tom had made quite a fair profit from his stock manipulation schemes, but it wasn't going to be enough. (He also had his business in the Wizarding world, which he had expanded to include all sorts of Muggle stationery, not just ballpoint pens, but that was a backup account for his school supplies and fancy robes to impress the purebloods with only.)

No, he'd need way more money than this. One, for all the Draught of Living Death he would need, and two, for a new secret base to store all his, er, people. He wasn't going to house them in Hogwarts where anyone could walk in on his little operation on accident. There was no telling how the Room of Requirement worked and he wasn't going to get overly dependent on it.

_**Wait, I have an solution to our funding problem. **_

_What is it?_

_**I hear Basilisk venom is worth a small fortune.**_

_Where the hell am I going to get a Basilisk?_

_**Great Grandpa Sally left you one. **_

_Basilisk – I have a BASILISK?! WHERE?!_

_**Girls' bathroom. Second floor. You can thank me later.**_

…

_**What?**_

…_But it's a _girls' _bathroom. I'm not _allowed_ in there!_

_**Oh for fuck's sake.**_

He might have been an incurable sociopath, but he was also a teenage boy, and being inside the girls' restroom was a rather foreign experience for him. Even though there were no girls currently inside, Tom still felt entirely exposed and _wrong _for some reason.

Maybe because the entire wall was lined with _stalls_, and nothing _but _stalls.

Trying to ignore the obvious lack of urinals, Tom edged over to the sinks like Jerry told him to and found the tap with the snake carved on the handle.

Seriously? The famed Chamber of Secrets, in a bathroom.

_Oh, how the mighty have fallen._

_**Now hiss to it!**_

…_Really? _Really_?_

_**Yep. Old Sally wasn't very creative with passwords. And here's a hint: the answer is even less secure than password1.**_

Security through obscurity was 99% of the time a terrible idea. Tom rolled his eyes and hissed ~Open~ at the sinks.

_Aaaand there goes the space-time anomalies again._

_**Ta daa~! Welcome to El Chambero of Secretos.**_

_Jerry?_

_**Yes?**_

_Never speak Spanish again. _

Tom peered down into the dark piping curiously, and immediately wrinkled his nose. For something so renowned by legend, it smelled like shit.

Literally.

There had to be at least nine centuries' worth of sewage down there.

He paused.

_Do I _have _to?_

_**Oh, levitate yourself down, you giant sissy. **_

Tom decided to conjure a HAZMAT suit just in case.

Luckily, the cavern below was a lot more sanitary, aside from the mildew and mineral deposits on the arching stone walls. It seemed that in creating this thing, Salazar Slytherin had broken at least ten different rules of the Evil Overlord List. One, it was overly elaborately decorated in a macabre way, even compared to most forms of medieval architecture, and therefore sacrificed utility for fashion. Two, the only entrance and exit – the restroom sinks – opened _very, very _slowly and noisily.

_**Three, it was built in a girls' restroom, because Salazar Slytherin was a secret pervert, and the Chamber of Secrets, a.k.a. Old Sally's Super Special Awesome Secret Pervert Lair, didn't house just **_**any **_**monstrous serpent.**_

_Shut up, Jerry. _Tom decided to take this moment to change the subject. He paused to look around at the ornately sloping ceilings. _I am almost embarrassed to be related to this guy. Secret lair with a giant monster snake thing, _really_?_

_**Hey! Basilisk venom and scales are very rare and very costly and will get you a shit ton of money on the black market! Not to mention the sheer amount of experiments you can do with those things!**_

Tom rolled his eyes, and pulled the sausage he'd saved from breakfast out of his pocket. He then cast some expansion and self-replication charms on it. ~Hey, Basilisk! Do you have a name?~

_Did _it have a name?

There was a rumbling as a BIG FUCKING SNAKE came out of one of the pipes. Tom immediately looked down and conjured a giant pair of glasses for the Basilisk. Permanent one-way mirrors, so that the Basilisk could still see, but so he didn't have to close his eyes every time he wanted to talk to it.

~Hey!~

~Sorry,~ Tom sighed. ~I don't want to die; no hard feelings?~

The Basilisk had stopped paying attention to him by that point. ~Oh, boy! Food for me?~

It turned out that the basilisk hidden in Hogwarts, called Bert, was a relatively even-tempered one. Relatively. Basilisks, as a whole, were rather aggressive creatures, and this one was no exception to the rule. Luckily, humans in general were not considered very tasty creatures by the rest of the animal kingdom, especially in this age, where people could count on regular meals and thus did not have to save up for times of famine in the form of fat anymore. That, combined with his ability to properly communicate with it, allowed him to convince it that a pile of well-prepared meat was a much nicer meal.

_**Small price to pay for a thousand Galleons per milliliter though, right?**_

_A million Galleons a liter, really?_

_**We control the only basilisk in England. Supply is literally near-nonexistent, and we have a monopoly on the only market source. As long as there is at least one desperate person out there, we can jack up the prices as much as we want, or, at long as said desperate person can still afford it. It doesn't even have to be gold.**_

_We can't just sell venom, though! What if it makes its way back to us? I don't see any phoenixes giving us any tear samples anytime soon._

_**We'll just synthetically produce some antivenom. For now, though, just ask it where it was the last time it shed its skin.**_

This particular basilisk had just about reached its prime, and thus had slowed down in its shedding process (probably once every few decades, in comparison to the monthly shed that came shortly after hatching), so the scales would have to be sold a little at a time (which worked out for Tom, because flooding the value with too much all at once would decrease its value).

On the other hand, the venom would always be there for him to experiment with until he had come up with a proper antidote. Then, maybe, he could consider letting the venom out onto the market, too. Or, maybe not. It would be extremely stupid having an extremely useful minion die by something that _he _could have controlled.

Now, Salazar Slytherin's original intention of keeping the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets had been to "get revenge on his enemies" and "purge Hogwarts of filth", whatever that might mean, but Tom wasn't about to embark on the same journey down the rabbit hole.

Besides, there were better uses for a basilisk that didn't involve making it go around giving people the literal death glare or otherwise biting and squishing them.

The weekend after that, Tom used his Time-Turner in combination with several layers of disguises, both magical and physical alike, so that he could sneak off to Knockturn Alley to put out word on the street that basilisk scales were now a commodity (as well as mind-control yet another string of middle-men to set up a selling chain for him) and subsequently head over to Diagon Alley to open up a new secondary account at Gringotts for his new illegal activities. Unlike the wizards, the Goblin Nations were actually well-acquainted with one another, and hiding a bunch of laundered gold out in Switzerland or the Americas had been simple enough.

Just as predicted, once it had been proven that yes, this were _real _basilisk scales (supposedly from a mysterious source in Greece, leading to uproar with the authorities there), the markets swarmed for attention. Each piece of the hide, sold separately, ended up balancing out at a little over a million galleons even.

The best part was, it was almost impossible to trace it back to him. Tom must have involved at least ten different levels of middle men in his mind-control chain, both in the selling and in the setting up of secret accounts in various countries. The best part was, since all of this was happening during wartime, the international community simply assumed that it was Grindelwald had managed to get his hands on a basilisk somehow, and little orphan schoolboy Tom flew under the radar once again.

The money he received from that sale alone was divided up between his multiple accounts (leaving the initial one he had from the Flourish and Blotts deal completely untouched, by the way) so that the authorities would be unable to trace it to a single person and possibly erroneously connect the dealings to an entire gang of smugglers instead.

With his financial future secured, Tom returned to dealing with the Nazis. First, he managed to find a lovely piece of property to set up his new lab in. Or rather, a nice piece of property that his Anifuted middle-men had scouted and bought for him, smack dab in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, unclaimed by any country.

Due to varying laws among different Wizarding governments, the Trace only extended to the borders of one country. Much like how an underage wizard could get away with performing magic in a home or "zone of operation" not their own, foreign wizards could only be persecuted for magic use by their home government, which, of course, did not have the power to detect said use in another country.

Most countries in the world set their age of majority to 17. However, the newly christened country of Isla de Tom set the age of majority to zero for anyone who was Tom Riddle. As this island had been legally bought, paid for, and registered under his name – well, one of his unwitting underlings' names; couldn't be traced back to him, after all – he was legally allowed to do this.

Then, he commissioned (also Anifuted) curse-breakers and wizarding security experts to ward for him, with their memories compeltely wiped once they were done, of course. And, like any responsible person would, Tom hired a different team of people to check their work, modified_ their _memories, and applied the final security measures himself, including liberal sprays of knockout-level Butterbeer concentrate to deter any of those pesky wizard-rules-don't-apply-to-me House-Elves.

From there, replacing the cans of Zyklon B with Draught of Living Death was child's play. Lacing the insides of the ovens with Flame-Freezing charms and one-way portkeys to the inside of his new lab without getting caught was considerably more difficult, but he managed.

Due to the way he'd set up the portkeys and the individual cells in his testing compound, they would simply end up assigned to the next open cell in his lab, each of which was magically protected against breakouts, exiting Portkeys, Apparition, message-sending, and so on. It didn't matter if he was "discovered" at this point, because by then it would be too late – any attempt to escape or communicate with the outside world was impossible once one was inside a cell.

And hey, if a few Nazi guards (or even Grindelwald agents) accidentally came along for the ride for some reason, no harm no foul.

Tom was secretly hoping it would happen. He'd saved the best experiments for them.

* * *

**A/N: So, regarding the mind-control rune from last chapter, I have my finalists:**

**\- The Peace Sign (Balagor)**

**\- The Cerebrand (Achille Talon)**

**I can't decide which one I like best. What do you guys think?**


End file.
